


We're All Mad Here

by RedIce



Series: Being Asexual in a Yaoi Novel [2]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Abortion, Abuse, Aftercare, Aftermath of Violence, Age Difference, Age Play, Angst, Angst and Drama, Anxiety, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Attempted Murder, Bad Touch, Blood and Violence, Breaking Promises, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Neglect, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Discipline, Discussion of Abortion, Dissociation, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Violence, Drama, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear of Discovery, Forced Abortion, Forced Infantilism, Gang Rape, Gangsters, Gaslighting, Gen, Gun Violence, Healing, Healing Sex, Heavy Angst, Heavy Petting, Hiding Medical Issues, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infantilism, Kidnapping, Little Space, Little Space Sex, Little abuse, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Examination, Medical Procedures, Medication, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Mistaken Identity, Multi, Murder, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Near Death Experiences, Neglect, Negotiating with Terrorists, Negotiations, No Aftercare, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Objectification, Oblivious, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Psychological Drama, Punishment, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Secret Identity, Sex for Favors, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Little Space, Sexual Violence, Spanking, Succubi & Incubi, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Surprise Kissing, Threats of Violence, Touch-Starved, Uninformed Consent, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wings, sexual age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedIce/pseuds/RedIce
Summary: Arc 2 of An Ace Down the Rabbit HoleTakaba Akihito, a newly-awakened incubus, is unwillingly whisked away to Russia under the wing of Mikhail Arbratov.Warning: This is the arc where shit goes down. Prepare yourselves.
Relationships: Asami Ryuichi & Takaba Akihito, Asami Ryuichi/Takaba Akihito, Liu Fei Long & Takaba Akihito, Mikhail Arbatov/Takaba Akihito, Takaba Akihito/Liu Fei Long, Takaba Akihito/Yoh, Yuri Arbatov/Takaba Akihito
Series: Being Asexual in a Yaoi Novel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828075
Comments: 120
Kudos: 107





	1. Leather Jacket Daddy

Rhythmic beeping… the sting of antiseptic… the hum of high-voltage electricity… frost and salt, car fumes and day-old tobacco smoke, a pinch in the back of his hand. 

Akihito twitches awake to an alien, tilt-shifted mirror world of what he’s used to. It’s a typical bedroom, but instead of walls, there’s bars. 

No. He can’t do this. 

“Akihito, huh?”

“What’s it to you?”

It’s eucalyptus man. Why was he here when he was one of FeiLong’s men? Was he always one of Mikhail’s?

“Seeing as you’re the one chained to the bed, I don’t think you’ve got any luck to spare questioning  _ me _ .” The man mockingly takes out his hand, imitating a shake. “Oh yes. Of course. How kind of you to ask. I’m Suzuki, by the way. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” 

“Wha-”

“Takahashi. 35. Has a wife he loves like crazy. Likes to have picnics in parks with his family during his time off. Has a 6 year old son. The light of his life. Has another daughter on the way.” The man catches Akihito’s gaze and holds it. “He died on that goddamn casino cruise ship to keep you safe, like so many others. In vain, it looks like. You’re here, after all.”

“Suzuki-san.” Akihito rasps. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your goddamn apologies. What I need is for you to keep your head down and not make trouble for any of us. We’re working on getting you out. But it all depends on you. Just be obedient for once in your life.”

“What do you mean? Where am I?”

“Well, seeing as you’ve gone and made yourself interesting, you’re the bratva’s, now.”

**

The Odessa is surprisingly quaint and quiet. If he didn’t know better, the decor pastel, idyllic sprawling lands and vivid Moscow sunsets would set him at ease. 

But alas, he’s still chained to the bed. He can’t move farther than the bathroom. 

“Lunch.”

“Sp-spasibo.” It’s been long days of staring out the window, tasting bites of meals that taste  _ off _ , and wishing for Yoh. His guard is Suzuki, who doubles as his Russian tutor. 

As always, Akihito just ignores the food. Suzuki just sighs and sets himself down on the bed, spooning a bite from the bowl. “Open up.”

The blond fights down his nausea enough to open, chew and swallow. 

“Come on. One more bite.” Another laden spoon hovers in front of the blue-eyed boy’s mouth. Immediately, he shakes his head. He can’t handle any more.

“Nyet.” Akihito whispers. Suzuki listens to him better if he uses the little Russian he knows. 

“Okay. Good boy.”

The food’s threatening to make a reappearance. Akihito throws himself sideways, so he’s hanging off the bed. He heaves, and Suzuki slides a bin below him just in time.

“S-sorry.” Akihito’s shaking from the effort it takes to vomit. He’s finishing hurling bile, tremors wracking his sickly frame. Not the first time, he wishes for FeiLong or Yoh. They would hold his hair back, pat his head, rub his shoulders, whisper assurances. They would make him feel better.

He knows it’s wrong to wish for them, but knowing it’s wrong doesn’t stop his traitorous thoughts. That he would rather be with one kidnapper than another, instead of wishing for no capturers at all. That at least FeiLong and Yoh were kind. That they took care of him, listened to him, gave him some semblance of freedom. 

“Fuck. I’m going to get into so much trouble.”

Akihito’s attention swings back to Suzuki, but the guard has already left. It doesn’t matter if Suzuki’s here or not. Akihito can’t get out of the bed on his own. 

**

“How long have they felt hot?”

“Since I came here.” 

Suzuki, Yuri, and Mikhail are all sitting in various forms around the doctor attending to Akihito, with Suzuki unanimously delegated as the translator. The doctor, Suzuki and Mikhail first spoke in hushed tones before Akihito was questioned. 

“And your nausea? How long have you been feeling that, and to what degree?”

“On and off for a few days. It’s been getting worse.”

“Any aches, and pains?”

“Yes.”

“Feeling feverish? Chills? Dizziness?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Shortness of breath?”

“Yes.”

The doctor sticks a thermometer into the boy’s mouth without fanfare, quelling Akihito’s affronted look with a glare. Once the instrument beeps, the doctor starts writing down notes and ranting at Mikhail and Suzuki with practiced ease while taking blood. 

Akihito would think the mafia men take it all in with aplomb if not for their way their fingers and eyes twitch. After a while, Yuri takes the notes and stalks off, face stormy.

“Suzuki-san? What did the doctor say?”

“Later, Akihito. We’re getting medicine to make you feel better.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mikhail approaches the bed, footsteps slow and distinctively loud. He crouches down and smiles, bright and disarming. “I’ll take care of you, Akihito.” And speaks. In stilted Japanese.

“Who are you?”

“Your new daddy!”

**

Akihito finds himself hooked up to an IV drip courtesy of the doctor while Suzuki checks over his fever every hour, citing how he’s on thin ice. 

“I’m not going to up and die if you don’t check on me, you know.” Akihito just wants to be able to breathe in peace without having Suzuki hovering. A few hours on antibiotics and opioids has him feeling better than ever and exponentially more bored now that he doesn’t have pain to entertain him. 

“If on the chance that you do die, it’s my head that’s on the line.”

Akihito sighs. “Why did Mikhail want to be my papa?”

“He what?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too.” 

“Ask that in Russian and I’ll answer you.”

“Um… why Mikhail daddy?”

Suzuki facepalms. “That was the worst sentence in Russian I’ve ever heard.”

“You didn’t answer me.” Akihito accuses. 

“Yeah, um. I’ve got no idea why either. Probably because you need one to keep you in line?”

Akihito can’t believe what he’s just heard. “What?”

“Well, back at the BaiShe HQ it’s pretty much an open secret that you have… certain needs.”

“What’s that got to do with Mikhail going all  _ daddy _ ?”

“Think about it. How did FeiLong treat you?”

“Like I’m a prisoner.” Akihito replies. Duh. 

“Besides that.”

“Well, like a kid?’

“Like a  _ father _ to their  _ child _ .” Suzuki gives up, like Akihito’s being an idiot. 

“Excuse me,  _ what _ ?”

“That’s what you respond to best. Don’t deny it, we’ve all noticed it.”

“ _ What _ .”

“It’s true.”

“If you’re going to spout ridiculous accusations, I need proof. Give me one example.”

“ _ One _ example? Alright, hmmm… Remember all those times when you ran ahead of Yoh and didn’t listen to him during your walks?”

“Yeah?” Akihito remembers them quite well. It’s one of his moments of normality, untainted by blood and fear. Yoh always seemed to walk like a tortoise, slow and steady. Akihito liked to flutter back and forth, in and out and around, staring at things that caught his interest. It wouldn’t be unusual to hear Yoh remind Akihito to slow down or come along, or even to see Yoh wrenching an entranced Akihito away from a dragon statue or a bladed fan or something else he deemed “pretty” and “shiny” at the time.

“Well, you listen to him very well when he’s holding your hand.”

“That's!” Akihito sputters. “Anyone would!”

“Or how about when you need to go to the bathroom you tug on Yoh’s sleeves?”

“How else am I supposed to tell him I need to go when there’s so many other people around, huh?”

“Or when you don’t want to eat the onions left on your plate all FeiLong has to do is threaten a trip over his knee and then you’ll eat them like they’re candy?”

“FeiLong’s hands hurt like hell! And who likes onions, anyway? Sushi and seaweed salad are way better!”

“You’re not fooling anyone, kid.”

With a sinking realization, Akihito realizes Suzuki could be right. 

“So what if I... respond better to people like that?” The words come out of his mouth slowly and painfully. 

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. You’re a kid, after all. It’s just interesting that Mikhail picked up on it so quickly as well.”

“Yeah. It’s not like I send out massive “I’m a kid” vibes whenever I breathe.”

“Well.” Suzuki’s eyebrows lift. 

“What? No way. No way! That’s not possible!”

“Uh, yeah.”

“How.”

“Well.” Suzuki stops then grins, like the cat’s got the canary. “I treat you differently now than I did when we first met. You ever wonder why?”

“Well, yeah. Because you’re stuck with me twenty-four seven and I can’t help rubbing off on you.”

“Cute. Keep telling yourself that.”

Akihito groans. “No. This can’t be true. You’re the one who told Mikhail about me, didn’t you. Please put me out of my misery.”

“Well, since you’re so graciously asking, we sure can go over Russian past tense verbs. If you can remember them all, I’ll get you a cup of tea and some Moskva.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suzuki loves bullying Akihito. This is the one or two fluff chapter(s) before the storm. 
> 
> For those who are wondering why I’m writing about asexuality when I could have written about literally anything else, I ask that you think again. Ask any asexual person and they can tell you a dozen times at least from the top of their head when they had to hide their asexuality in some way, shape, or form, whether it’s pretending to find someone cute while gossiping about girls/boys or growing up feeling that they’re broken. 
> 
> From Wikipedia: “A 2017 LGBT survey conducted by the Government of the United Kingdom found that despite just two per cent of more than 108,000 respondents identifying as asexual, they had the joint-lowest (alongside pansexual people) average life satisfaction of any sexual orientation amongst cisgender respondents. The results of the survey also showed asexual people to be the least comfortable cisgender LGBT group within the United Kingdom, and 89 per cent of cisgender asexual respondents - the highest percentage of any group surveyed - were reluctant to be open with their identity for fear of negative reactions.[9]”  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Discrimination_against_asexual_people
> 
> “Sexual harassment and violence, including so-called ‘corrective’ rape, is disturbingly common in the ace community, says Decker, who has received death threats and has been told by several online commenters that she just needs a ‘good raping.’  
> ‘When people hear that you’re asexual, some take that as a challenge,’ said Decker.  
> …  
> Last year, the apparent bias against aces was corroborated with a landmark study conducted by Brock University researchers Gordon Hodson and Cara McInnis. The study found that people of all sexual stripes are more likely to discriminate against asexuals, compared to other sexual minorities.”  
> https://www.huffpost.com/entry/asexual-discrimination_n_3380551
> 
> Openly asexual people face discrimination, whether it be corrective rape, “reparative” therapy, patronization and/or disbelief in their sexuality (“it’s just a phase”), etc. That doesn’t even include how the LGBT+ community also disenfranchises ace people by claiming that ace people are not a part of their community. Plus, asexual representation in the media cast roles that encourage the belief that aseuxal people are childlike/innocent, a prude, a plant (not kidding), aomebas, a robot, an alien, or otherwise somehow less than human.


	2. It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito steps backwards, eyes blown and transfixed on the men. It feels like he’s observing something he’s not meant to see, but that he should see. 
> 
> His heart thumps. Another step backwards. Leaves crunch loudly beneath his foot. The men stop talking and stare at him.
> 
> Akihito runs.

The doctor mutters very quickly to Mikhail and Suzuki. It seems like that’s all he does these days: come in, adjust his IV, mutter, and then leave after he’s sufficiently wound up Mikhail and Suzuki. 

“So what’s the verdict? I’m good to leave the bed?”

Mikhail and Suzuki focus on him and then resume their heated discussion with the doctor. He hears some snippets about babies and orphanages, and nope, nevermind. Nothing makes sense. He definitely has to work more on his Russian if this is going to be a regular occurance. 

Without pause, Suzuki cards a hand in his hair, and like instinct, Akihito tilts his head back, nudging the hand for more. His eyes close and the tips of his wings flutter a bit. 

Someone slides their hands below him, and then Akihito’s in the air, being carried on Mikhail’s hip with one hand securing Akihito’s torso. The 5”2 boy just nestles into the warm heartbeat and breathes out, easing into the sleepy heat. The conversation continues around him. 

Something lightly jostles Akihito, and he shifts awake. When did he fall asleep?

“Akihito.” It’s Mikhail, on the bed with him. He’s tugging his tie loose, opening up his shirt. There’s scars on his shoulders, trailing down his back. They glint in the moonlight. Whip marks.

“Mikhail?”

“I’ll give you what you need. Take.” Mikhail puts Akihito’s hands on his chest. Oh. He knows. Suzuki must have told him. 

Akihito searches the room for Suzuki. He’s at the foot of the bed. Suzuki nods to him. 

The blond closes his eyes. Reaches outwards for Mikhail’s dew on wisteria, hoarfrost creeping up on glass, dolphin clicks and whistles over thunder rumbles. He’s bubbling sweet kvas: sugary yet acidic, wet yet dry. 

Akihito glides his body over Mikhail’s. He finds that he’s already been fully undressed in his slumber. The shorter settles on top of the older, ear to the steady heartbeat, his smaller hands curling around broad shoulders, legs tangling and gripping onto strong thighs. With this much skin to skin, the incubus’ senses are purring. 

The blond suckles, tentatively at first, then strongly when all Mikhail does is run a secure hand down his back. For the first time in a long time, Akihito can breathe unencumbered, move without pain. His body and wings glow golden, casting the room in an amber, a still frame of beauty in an ever-changing world. A gentle breeze flips through the air, carrying a soft melody*.

In the distance, he hears Suzuki curse in surprise. 

“Good boy, Akihito.” Mikhail murmurs praise in his ears. He’s good. He’s doing good. And he feels good. His bullet wounds are finally closing up and healing, his anxiety quietening, his fear stewing somewhere in the back of his mind floating away. He feels cleaner as he feeds, like he’s washing poison from his blood. 

As the minutes pass, he sinks heavier and satiated, like he’s eaten a thanksgiving dinner. His wings fold back into him. His eyes drift shut while he still suckles. Below him, he feels a soft shaking from the chest, like someone is suppressing a laugh. 

Akihito doesn’t mind. The heartbeat is strong and steady, and for the first time in a while, he falls to a deep, undisturbed dreamland. 

**

After the doctor’s visits, Mikhail has taken to carrying Akihito wherever he’s going. Literally. 

Going to the pool? Bring Akihito, a spare swimsuit that’s definitely not Mikhail’s size, and smiley face towels. Taking a walk around the mansion? Hold hands with Akihito, along with a jacket and a scarf embroidered with dancing polar bears and snowflakes on hand. Tea time with other gangsters? Take Akihito, and carry him into the meeting by the hip like a baby. Never mind him listening in, or the skies above, understanding. It’s not like he has ears or something. Or maybe that’s Mikhail’s plan. He wants Akihito to listen in. 

To his embarrassment and utter dismay, that’s where he spends most of his time: in meetings, with heavily tattooed mafia men staring him down while he colors or reads simple Russian books. 

Lately, he’s been blasting through fairy tales. He’s on Teremok**, and his favorite character is the bear. He’s studiously avoiding the piercing gazes of the mafiosi on the other side of the coffee table. The blond grabs his glass of tomato juice and takes a sip. Hm. Now, the bear has made the roof cave in. How unfortunate. 

“Akihito.”

It’s the first time his name’s been called in a meeting. 

“How do you  _ feel _ about Alexander? Do you like him?” 

Alexander’s the leader apparent of the mafioso group across from them. The boy looks up to find the man in question raising an eyebrow at him. “Um… he’s okay I guess.” What is happening? What does Mikhail mean? Why would Mikhail stop a meeting to ask him this?

Mikhail searches his face intensely for pregnant seconds. Then, he beams and engulfs Akihito into a bear hug. “Alright! Thanks for telling daddy!”

Mikhail smiles at Alexander. Alexander smiles back. The men around the room shift, making themselves more at home. They exchange quips and start chuckling a bit.

Weird. Akihito pays them no mind and gets back to his bear.

**

It’s become a routine now. Wake up with Mikhail, breakfast with Mikhail, tea time meetings with Mikhail, lunch meetings with Mikhail, a walk or the pool or a nap, reading books while Mikhail does paperwork or talk to his underlings, dinner with Mikhail, feed from Mikhail, sleep on Mikhail. 

In short, Akihito doesn’t get more than 5 minutes to himself. Even when he needs to go to the bathroom, Suzuki comes in with him. The only time he gets a break from Mikhail or Suzuki or anyone is when he’s put down for a nap, and even then, he sees their faces in his dreams.

Arg.

So it’s understandably confusing for Akihito to find himself alone for once. He doesn’t notice, at first. He’s humming a mindless tune, echoing the church bells ringing the hour as he sketches a flower from the garden outside. And then he hears it. A music box***. 

Akihito perks up, drawing forgotten. He’s about to tell Mikhail about it, but he’s not here. Nobody’s here but him. Where did they all go?

The blond stands up and follows the sound through hallways, doorways and into the garden. The tinkles lure him deeper into the maze, through sections of flora he’s never been before. Finally, he stops at a huge tree, set with a stone bench and a bird fountain. It’s Yuri with a few other men he’s never seen before. The music is coming from the man with a scar down his eye. 

And then the music stops. Akihito steps backwards, eyes blown and transfixed on the men. It feels like he’s observing something he’s not meant to see, but that he should see. 

His heart thumps. Another step backwards. Leaves crunch loudly beneath his foot. The men stop talking and stare at him.

Akihito runs.

He doesn’t get far. Yuri tackles him to the stone trail and the shorter is blinded by pain from the hard fall for a few seconds. It’s all Yuri needs to haul Akihito over his lap and ruthlessly tear into his ass with resounding slaps. Yuri’s gloves manage to make it hurt even more, somehow.

Akihito can’t help but scream, and Yuri stuffs his scarf into his mouth, choking him. “Shut up, you brat.” He tries to kick, to protect his posterior with his hands, but Yuri just manhandles him so that his wrists are trapped under an unyielding hand and his legs under a strong thigh. 

“Please!” Akihito yells, but it’s muffled by the scarf. 

Yuri doesn’t stop hitting him. “Are you talking back?” He just hits harder. Yuri’s hand is as hot and hard as a branding iron. It sears his ass from the inside out. Akihito feels tears and drool and snot slide down his face to the stone below. His feet drum on the floor. His legs jerk and he’s heaving for air. He can’t help it. 

“You should have known better than to eavesdrop. Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

Akihito furiously nods his head.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. Talk about this or eavesdrop again and I’ll be whipping your wings bloody, boy.”

A shiver works its way up his spine. His stomach drops. Something tight rises up his throat. 

He’s about to throw up. Whipping his  _ wings _ bloody? Oh my god. Oh gods. God no. Even someone holding a feather roughly feels  _ wrongwrongwrong getitoffme _ . There’s no doubt that Yuri would do it. And he would do it with a smile on his face. Akihito can’t-he can’t-

Akihito nods his head so fast he’s dizzy. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” The words are garbled but distinguishable enough, he hopes. 

Oh gods.

Finally, Yuri stops and lets go of Akihito’s hands. The man gets up and leaves Akihito sobbing on the ground, scarf coughed out and wet with saliva on the cobblestone. 

The men circle around and laugh, exchanging handshakes. 

“Sorry for the interruption, gentlemen.”

“No no, it’s no problem. We’ve all been there before. I think we’ll have a good partnership.” 

Yuri answers. “Me too. Don’t worry Aaronka, that little brat won’t say a word.” So music box man is Aaron. 

“Make sure that he does. Say, who is he?”

“Who, the brat? He’s my nephew’s newest project.” An uproarious laugh. 

“My sister’s son is only 13 himself. He’s just like him, getting into trouble everywhere.”

“Yeah, they sure do.” Another series of laughs from the men.

“How old is yours?”

A hesitation. “I’m telling you this in goodwill. For our partnership.”

“For Cherenboyl. Of course.” Aaron’s voice is honey. 

“Just turned nine. He’s nine goddamn months old, can you believe it?”

“Well, Mikhail sure knows how to pick them.” The men clap each other’s backs. Another round of laughs. 

Akihito retches into the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Seal Lullaby is a choir lullaby by Eric Whitcare.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKrsDN91WgY
> 
> **Teremok is a Russian folk tale about animals who find an abandoned house in the forest and move in. There are so many animals that move in that when the bear moves on the roof, the house collapses. They rebuild the house and live happily ever after. 
> 
> ***The music is Vlata (The Moldau) from Má Vlast (My Homeland) Smetana
> 
> This is the entire Má Vlast  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6jlhLUgER0
> 
> This is the music box version Akihito hears  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIFPFAqxw30
> 
> Bedrich Smetana is a Czech composer whose legacy is synonymous with the Czech fight for independent statehood. As you can probably see, this has parallels to Chernobyl. 
> 
> Smetana is also Russian for sour cream, which is like served at every meal. You can eat oladyi (thick pancakes) with smetana, for example. There’s even a cake made of smetana: smetannik cake. 
> 
> Please excuse me, I know nothing of Russian naming conventions. The wonderful Ilien has taught me how to use diminutives for Yuri in this lovely Tumblr post:  
> https://ili-here.tumblr.com/post/161621519276/russian-names-yuri


	3. If I Scream, Will You Come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito rises to a kneel from the ground, illuminating the garden in golden light. And then Yuri grabs an arm and twists until it snaps. 
> 
> Akihito screams louder, until he can’t hear himself anymore.

He’s shivering. The brisk fall wind chills him to the bone, despite his jacket and scarf. Akihito tries to kneel up, and has to wait out the black spots dancing in his vision. 

The blond uses the spit-soaked scarf to wipe away the acid around his mouth. His shaky hand just smears the mess around. He gives up. His arm collapses and Akihito falls down on his stomach, the wind knocking right out of him. The impact jostles his throbbing behind as well, and for all he can do for long seconds is wheeze.

Damnit.

Akihito blinks back the tears and tries again. He has to leave. The circle of men have segregated and are walking deeper into the garden, exiting by a hidden gate? Some are staying back. Oh. They’re probably timing their exits, so that nothing is suspicious.

And of course there would be secret entrances and exit ways. It’s a mafia mansion. 

No wonder Yuri doesn’t want Akihito to talk about it. The whole meeting reeks of suspicion, even to a “civilian” like him. 

His sixth sense rouses.  _ Warn Mikhail. If Yuri and those men come together, everyone you know will touch a certain death.  _

_ Who will get hurt? Mikhail? Asami? FeiLong? Yoh?  _

_ All of them. _

_ Me? _

_ Yes, you most of all.  _

Akihito swallows down the aftertaste of bile. He-he can’t exactly warn Mikhail. Yuri will know. But if he makes a big enough ruckus, then Mikhail will know something happened here, right? Mikhail will come for him, right? He has to. 

Yuri walks over, back to the mansion. Akihito sticks a hand out to grab Yuri’s ankle. Akihito is brave. He has to be brave.

“You’re making a mistake, uncle Yura.”

The man kicks his hand away and continues walking. “Don’t stick your nose in business that isn’t yours, boy.”

Half of the strange men already left. He has to do it now, before they all leave and Yuri can claim plausible deniability. Mikhail has to come. Mikhail has to believe Akihito. 

Akihito inhales. Centers his energy. Lets mist rise from his skin. Imagines the chime of church bells. 

And he screams*, louder and louder. Until he’s not screaming with his lungs, but with the eddying sparkles of light. Until he’s screaming deafeningly enough to paralyze grown men, enough to halt them in their tracks, enough so maybe Mikhail will hear him and come. 

_ Please, please, please be loud enough.  _

Akihito rises to a kneel from the ground, illuminating the garden in golden light. And then Yuri grabs an arm and  _ twists _ until it snaps. 

Akihito screams louder, until he can’t hear himself anymore. 

**

“What the hell happened?” Mikhail demands, fury alight in his eyes. He’s dead serious, unlike anytime Akihito’s seen before. There’s no dolphin clicks here.

“The brat ran off and then started screaming when I caught him in the act, that’s what happened.” Yuri growls. 

Mikhail grabs Akihito’s chin, forcing him to look at the taller. “Is this true?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spots one of Yuri’s teeth glinting. The shorter shivers. Throat too sore to speak, Akihito jerkily nods.

“Uncle. Thanks for bringing Akihito back. I’ll be needing to talk with him, now.”

“Absolutely.” Yuri turns to leave, but not before baring his teeth in a truly terrifying display. “Be a good boy, now, Akihito.”

The door closes with a finality. 

“Please, Misha.” Akihito croaks out. “I didn’t-”

“What you did and didn’t do aren’t for discussion. The fact is, everyone here knows that you’re not an ordinary boy anymore. I don’t even know how many bribes are going to cover this. Do you know how close you are from being kidnapped and shipped to a lab?”

Akihito jolts. No, he hasn’t thought of that. All he was thinking was protecting the people he knew. 

“I can’t protect you if you don’t protect yourself, Akihito. I don’t want to do this to you, but you’ve forced my hand.”

Mikhail unboxes a collar. It’s sleek and metal and has a combination lock in the back, so reminiscent of the one FeiLong put on him. Akihito says nothing as Mikhail clasps it on. 

“Don’t try to take it off. Don’t wander off.”

“Why?” Akihito’s voice cracks. 

“It’ll shock you. Just stay within 4 meters of me, Suzuki or Yura and you’ll be fine.”

The blue-eyed boy can’t think. “No. No-”

“This is not up for discussion. I can’t have you running off and stressing yourself into another asthma attack, can I? Akihito, you almost died! If I hadn't gotten there in time with the inhaler you’ll be gone. And who knows what other people might do to you if they see you alone.” 

The collar sits tight against his neck, like a brand.

“In this world, you can only protect what you have control over.”

“Misha, I’m sorry. I didn’t run. I was-uncle Yura-”

Mikhail shushes him. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s take a shower with daddy, huh?”

**

The walk back to Mikhail’s suite was long and tense. Once Mikhail turned on the water, he made quick work of Akihito’s dirty clothes and undressed himself. He hisses at the boy’s purpling bottom and arm.

The older lathers Akihito’s hair. For some reason, Mikhail has the same no-tear shampoo FeiLong uses on him. “What did uncle Yura do?”

The blue-eyed boy blinks up in surprise. “What?”

“What did uncle Yura do? And keep your voice below the water.”

“You think he bugged us?”

Mikhail scoffs. “I wouldn’t put it past him. So. What did Yura do?”

“He. He was meeting with strange men. In the garden. By the big tree.”   
  


Mikhail’s expression says it all. “Did you see their faces?”

“Not-not all of them. One of them had a scar down his eye. Yura called him Aaronka.”

“Troublesome.” Mikhail rinses the shampoo and soaps Akihito up, careful of his injuries.

“Misha, they felt like trouble. I don’t like them. They-why is uncle Yura with them?”

“He’s always hated me since I was a kid.” Mikhail huffs. “That old perverted bastard. Probably was just waiting for the chance to spread all the dirty little secrets he knows.”

“Then why do you trust him?”

“Silly Akihito.” Mikhail smiles. “I don’t trust him. I just pretend to trust him.”

Akihito stares at his BaiShe tattoo, glistening like a snake reborn under the riverets of water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The piece Akihito screams is Miserere Mei, Deus, Allegri (He especially screams the high notes. You can imagine how much those notes can project if Akihito really tries). You probably know the piece, you just don’t know the name. It’s a pleading for God to wash away their sins. Akihito uses it to make Yuri see that he’s stirring danger (sin) by associating with those men, and so Yuri should stop. Also, who could resist a Sion and Asami allegory?
> 
> The story is that the piece is a part of a famous Sistine chapel series that has been forbidden to be transcribed and was kept a church secret until young 14 year old Mozart transcribed it while he was hearing it in the audience. What a lad. 
> 
> Unfortunately, there’s no consistent record of how Miserere Mei, Deus changed through the years in the church. The church version was special, and nobody really knew how to replicate the exact taste (though they tried) but even then, each year the church has added new flavours that subtly change the taste through the centuries. 
> 
> Wikipedia:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miserere_(Allegri)
> 
> Audio:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rs5bc_P1kKo
> 
> Akihito has no idea what he’s doing and his half-baked plans always backfire on him. He should be learning by now, but I guess he’ll learn eventually. 
> 
> Lol I made scene by scene outlines with references for the first 15 chapters but by this point I don’t even have outlines anymore; I’m just writing straight from the gutter brain. The characters are in control of the steering wheel now. Strap in for the ride.


	4. Wake Me Up Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just wanted to be treated like a person. Why-. He can’t even talk without being beaten down into submission. Something sour goes down his throat, choked down along with his tears and spit. He just wanted to be free for a second. 
> 
> But he’s just one person, and a clueless one at that. He can’t fight against the shock collar or Suzuki or Yuri. He can’t fight or run or even go to the bathroom by himself. He’s just some precious jewel that needs protection, because he can’t protect himself.

Akihito wakes up sitting on the bathroom sink to Mikhail brushing his teeth. 

“Awake, little guy?”

Akihito glares at him and takes the toothbrush to finish brushing his own damn teeth. Once he rinses his mouth and washes his face, Akihito climbs back into Misha’s lap.

Wow is it good to have healing powers. It would be a pain, literally, to nurse his broken arm for weeks. It’s the first time in a long while he’s not nauseous, as well. 

“Are you going to fall back asleep?”

Akihito nods into the chest. It’s too early.

“Alright then. I guess someone is not going to have milk soup.”

The boy’s eyes shoot open. “No, I’m awake.” Milk soup is too delicious to miss.

Mikhail grins. “Then I guess it’s time for breakfast.”

**

Russian food is amazing. Unfortunately, there’s also a no talking rule at the table.

Akihito squirms in Mikhail’s lap. He needs the bathroom. Again.

The shorter wriggles out and Mikhail signals Suzuki to follow. In the restroom, Akihito’s eyes trace the tile patterns as he pees.

“Where were you yesterday?”

“Getting information.”

“What about?” Done peeing, Akihito washes his hands with chamomile soap. 

“Mikhail is planning to meet FeiLong.” 

“What?! Really? When? Where? Is he coming for me?”

“Don’t know. There’s trouble stirring.” It’s clear that the discussion is over. 

“Okay. Can I have kefir*?”

“Sure, buddy.” Suzuki offers his hand. Akihito grabs and lightly swings it the whole way back. 

**

The day goes as any day does. Akihito doesn’t know why he expected it to go any differently. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” A mafia gangster he’s seen around before spits. Akihito’s Russian is good enough by this point that he knows he hasn’t misheard.

“That’s not nice to say about yourself.” Akihito quips back and continues walking back to his room. 

“You’ll be regretting that, brat! You’re nothing but a kozyol**. You think you’re so important? The Arbatov family cleans out dozens of boys like you every day!”

Besides him, Suzuki is stone-faced. Out of earshot and stares, Akihito rounds on Suzuki. “What does he mean?” He’s trying not to let what the man said get to him, but it’s hard. He knows it’s something bad.

His face must have revealed something. Suzuki doesn’t say anything for a long while. Only when Akihito’s changing into his pajamas does he open his mouth.

“Akihito, the family has to do things to stay a family.”

“Like killing people like me?”

A sigh. “No, they’re not like you.”

“So just because I’ve got some wings and sparkles I’m worth saving? I’m worth keeping alive? Well fuck you!”

“Akihito!” Suzuki lightly swats his hip. It gets his attention. Akihito casts a betrayed look at Suzuki. Suzuki hit him! “There’s a reason people get cleaned out. They have blood on their ledger. They’ve done bad things. Irredeemable things.”

“Like I haven’t?” Akihito still can’t believe Suzuki would hit him. It only stung for a second, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Suzuki, like Asami or his goons or Whip Man or FeiLong or Yoh or Yuri, thinks it’s okay to use Akihito’s body to get his attention or to control him. He hates it. Hates the easy presumption that his body is free for others to dominate. “Or they were just caught up in the wrong time at the wrong place.”

The entitlement simmers something bubbling in his stomach. It’s hard to swallow down.

“Yeah.” Suzuki ages a decade in that one word. “That too. Sometimes I wish you weren’t so bright or curious. It’s just getting you into a world of trouble.”

“I’ve-I’ve done stuff like that too. Done bad things and made a mess and so I should be dead, too, like all those other boys. Why am I not dead?”

Suzuki pulls up the covers and tucks him in. “I don’t know. Nobody knows exactly why or why not when you’re in this profession. Sometimes it’s by design. Most of the time, it’s up to chance. Be glad you’re lucky.” 

“Stay with me?”

Suzuki runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. I already spoil you rotten, kid.”

When Suzuki lays down and opens his arms, expectant, Akihito only hesitates for a second before curling into the warmth.

**

“How was your nap, little man?”

Akihito is still drowsy on Suzuki’s hip. Luckily, the nap absolved his headache. “Mnnnn.”

Mikhail’s eyes dance. 

“Misha, what’s a kozyol?”

Suzuki stiffens. Akihito paws at Suzuki’s face without opening his eyes. Revert back to softness, pillow. Suzuki and Mikhail converse in hushed English. Akihito can only make out some words like his name. 

He’s halfway back to dreamland when Suzuki buckles him in a car. “Go back to sleep, Akihito. We’ll tell you later.”

Okay. “Promise?” Suzuki’s lap is too comfortable to be awake in.

“Yeah.”

**

Apparently Mikhail has no compunctions about showing up to a tense disagreement in a restaurant with Akihito. 

The men have already finished their lunch, and are aggressively drinking tea in the private room. 

Mikhail pushes a vatrushka*** on Akihito’s plate, winking. 

“And what about that shipment?”

“Sergey, we can’t just sink a couple in the bay now. The police are sniffing, especially after that other group started using our dropoff locations.”

“Well we sure as hell can't let it go. If the quality is that low on all the loads, we might as well be paying for trash.”

“Are you saying we should go back on the payments? They won’t be happy.”

“They should have known better.”

Akihito tugs on Mikhail’s sleeves. “Were the shipments defective before?” 

Everyone in the room stops, surreptitiously. “Daddy’s busy right now. Why don’t you go back to your book? Isn’t that more interesting?”

The shorter blond finishes the vatrushka and crosses his arms. “No. I don’t wanna.” Akihito huffs and expels the words swiftly in one long mumble. He’s tired of being treated like a kid. Suzuki doesn’t promise getting him out. The treatment bubbles something jittery and mean up his skin. He just wants to be a person, with their own thoughts and freedom and who doesn’t need babying. Who can escape by themselves, hold down a job and live the way they want. “If the shipments weren’t defective before, and the supplier is the same, doesn’t that mean that someone is stealing your shipments and replacing the ones they took with bad ones before you get them?”

“Akihito, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, you’re going to be a sorry boy. ”

He knows he shouldn’t be testing boundaries when he’s getting to know the layout of the mansion and the guard schedules and the people. He knows he has to lay down, to lower his head, to act like he’s defenseless so nobody takes him seriously, especially when he’s done so much work and Misha actually underestimates him so much that he’s brought to all the meetings. But he  _ needs _ to be taken seriously. He can’t control the need to be listened to at least once, like he’s watching a train crash and he can’t look away. “No! I’m  _ not sorry _ ! If the dropoff location is the same-”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”

In one motion, Mikhail grabs the smaller’s wrist and tugs him out of the room, across the hallway, and into an adjacent empty one. The quick movement makes Akihito dizzy and blind for a few precious seconds. By the time his vision no longer spots and blood rushes to his head again, his pants are around his knees and his wrists are bound to the small of his back, leaving unprotected bare skin ready for the picking. 

The first three swats come down like one and Akihito chokes on his spit. The hits ring loudly and for a long moment, his heart stutters and his chest tightens, throbs. And then his bottom smarts like it’s been stung by a nest of wasps.

By the time Mikhail’s hands attack his thighs, Akihito’s screaming wordless little gasps. “If you don’t stop dancing around, I’ll make you more sorry while I’m at it.”

Immediately, Akihito tries to stop wriggling to avoid the swats. It takes all his thought to keep stiff, but he’s still writhing like a worm on a hook. His muscles twitch and clench at the anticipation of pain. Nausea swells with each hit. He tries to swallow it down, to keep the bile in his mouth, but he’s shrieking and crying too hard. 

He just wanted to be treated like a person. Why-. He can’t even talk without being beaten down into submission. Something sour goes down his throat, choked down along with his tears and spit. He just wanted to be free for a second. 

But he’s just one person, and a clueless one at that. He can’t fight against the shock collar or Suzuki or Yuri. He can’t fight or run or even go to the bathroom by himself. He’s just some precious jewel that needs protection, because he can’t protect himself.

The blond doesn’t know how long it has been, but his skin radiates heat. On a hit that burns to the bone, his stomach rebels and ejects his lunch. “I sowwy!” His apologies are jumbled and interrupted by more coughing and retching. He’s just a little boy. Misha already allows him so much, lengthens the chain so long he gets confused and starts to think scary thoughts, silly thoughts like Misha doesn’t like Aki or that Aki’s capable of taking care of himself. Isn’t Misha just doing his best? “Aki-Aki sowwy!” Parts of his breakfast come up, landing on top of his lunch. 

He hates puking. It hurts, and more pain on top of everything stabs something unwelcome into his already battered heart.

Akihito doesn’t even notice that the punishment stops. He’s too busy bawling and gagging and shivering on all fours on the floor. A hand is holding his hair from his face. The flaxen tresses are long enough now that it can reach his shoulders. Instead, they’re being pulled up and the hard hand that was spanking him is now rubbing his back. 

“S-S-Sorry!” Akihito stutters for the first time he can remember. His teeth clack every time he tries again. The hand continues to pet him. 

“Shhhh. Sh-shhhhh. It’s okay.” 

“Aki sorry!” The boy can’t help but repeat. He needs forgiveness. He wants this to stop. Everything hurts and feels so bad. Misha can make him feel better. Why doesn’t Misha want Aki feel better? He’s sorry now. He’s a good boy. 

“Aki sorry. Aki sorry. Aki sorry, sorry, sorry! Aki sorry!”

“I know, I know. It’s okay. You’re a good boy. Let’s get you up, huh?”

Mikhail wipes the shorter’s mouth and face with a napkin and slides up the pants back on his hips. Akihito whimpers brokenly at the feeling of clothing on his hot, throbbing skin. 

Why isn’t Misha making him feel better? He’s a good boy. Good boys should feel good.

“Aki sorry. Aki sorry. Aki really sorry.” 

“Shhhhhhhhhh.” Mikhail hauls him up and settles Akihito on his hip. The older enters the hallway and flags down a waiter, motioning at the mess and whispering a thanks. 

Suzuki, standing sentinel outside the meeting room, hisses sympathetically at the puffy eyes and red face. “Aki sorry. Aki sorry.” Akihito mumbles into Mikhail’s chest, double breathing but not choking anymore.

“I know you’re sorry, little guy. I need you to tell everyone you’re sorry that you’ve caused a disturbance, and then you can go back to your book, alright? You can lay down on your chair and my lap, but I need you to be quiet until the meeting ends. Can you do that for me?”

Akihito nods. “Aki sorry.”

The babushka waiter returns with a glass of water and an empty one. “For him to swish. Set them outside the door when he’s done, the poor dear.” 

“Thank you.” Suzuki receives the glasses and tips the water into Akihito’s mouth. The waiter nods and enters the soiled room. The boy wordlessly obeys and spits out the water into the other cup. He burrows right back into Mikhail’s neck afterwards. 

Suzuki ruffles Akihito’s hair. “What the hell happened? You were spanking him for less than a minute.”

Less than 60 seconds?! That spanking from hell felt like it lasted an eternity and beyond! It was definitely at least an hour, if not more!

A hand soothes down his back again and Akihito realises that he’s been whining in distress between his snuffling. He’s glad Misha takes care of him. Glad that Misha and Suzuki both take care of him and comfort him and know what he needs, even when he doesn’t.

Mikhail holds the boy tighter. “Later.” Suzuki’s hand leaves his back.

Mikhail knocks on the door and enters. The room quietens again. “Akihito would like to say something.” The boy shakes his head in the crevice of Mikhail’s neck. No. He doesn’t. But Misha knows best. “Wouldn’t you, Aki?” Mikhail nudges Akihito’s elbow.

The boy takes in a shuddering breath and mumbles into the neck. “Aki’s sorry Aki made a disturbance.”

Mikhail nudes Akihito’s elbow again. “Face them and apologize properly, now.”

Someone chuckles. “Aw, he’s a shy little guy.”

Akihito untwists his upper half from Mikhail to face the room full of gangsters. His face is red and miserable, his breath still hitching periodically. There’s a total of 11 gangsters poorly hiding their amusement and Akihito can’t help but balk.

“Aki’s sorry Aki made a disturbance!”

And then he clams up and burrows back into Mikhail’s neck, hands shaking. “Good boy, Aki. Daddy’s proud of you.”

The other gangsters chuckle as Mikhail pushes their chairs together and settles Akihito’s head on his lap, legs hanging from the chair. His toes brush the ground. Thank goodness he’s not sitting.

It doesn’t matter though. Akihito’s a good boy. Mikhail will make everything better. Worn out from crying, Akihito drifts into sleep on Mikhail’s lap to the sound of mafioso plotting assassinations. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kefir is similar to soured milk and yogurt in that it’s a fermented milk product. Poor Akihito, like the vast majority of asians, have lactose intolerance. Kefir has a low to no lactose content. Plus, it tastes great. 
> 
> **After scouring the internet again, I finally rediscovered my source. Kozyol is literally a goat, but it means a “passive homosexual”. AKA a bottom. Russia is deeply homophobic and discriminatory to LBGT+ identities. You can literally be killed there for being gay.   
> https://www.hrw.org/legacy/reports98/russia2/Russ98d-08.htm
> 
> *** Vatrushka is a mini pie with cottage cheese. It’s eaten with tea (If you want to sweeten tea up, add jam.
> 
> Lmao you guys can probably tell I have a research problem. For every 3 chapters I write on average about 150 pages of notes. It’s mostly tidbits I remember from the past and then trying to find the origin of it and tracing my steps. Or like interviews with a friend of a friend who is Russian. Or Wikipedia. Gotta love Wikipedia. 
> 
> A friend told me that when they write they just make stuff up and then they fact check it later and I was like what?! That’s an option?!!
> 
> So yeah I’m trying to research less but it’s a hard habit to break. Combined with the fact that I’m the kind of writer who writes and then posts their stuff around 5-8 years after it’s finished or doesn’t even post at all and it’s : (. But lately I’ve only been posting stuff a year later! So yay! Confidence! I no longer care about quality, as long as I can get my idea across lol.


	5. Daddy Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuri. We’ll be having a chat later on how hard you can discipline. For now, hands off.”
> 
> “I raised you. Look at what a mewling little quim you’ve become.”
> 
> “I grew up.” Mikhail bites out.
> 
> “No, you didn’t.”

“Nnnnnno!”

“Akihito, sit down right now.”

“It hurts!” The past week and a half, Akihito’s been sleeping on his stomach and kneeling or standing instead of sitting. It’s dinnertime with Yuri and the other upper elechon of the Bratva, and the boy is just so sick and tired of hurting with no end in sight. 

Mikhail’s been stingy and not allowing him to take more energy than the bare minimum as a reminder of the punishment. And so the tenderness turned to welts which swelled to deep purple bruises with streaks of red.

Everything’s been feeling too hot and frustrating today. Akihito fought Suzuki on the scarf and jacket, claiming it was too stuffy, even through his shivering. Then he didn’t eat breakfast, saying that he was too nauseous. It was the same story with lunch. He hasn’t been walking or reading or drawing, instead opting to nap the entire day. And that’s not to mention how he refused to sit down an entire week and a half. 

By this point, the entire Bratva has had it with him.

“Mikhail, if you don’t discipline your brat, I’ll do it for you.” Yuri thunders down the table. 

“No!” Akihito yells back, irrespective of the no speaking rule at meal times. The spanking is what’s hurting him in the first place! And Yuri’s hand is by far the hardest hand he’s ever felt. He makes to break for his room, but Mikhail stands up and catches him before he’s made it two steps. Without fanfare, he’s hoisted on Mikhail’s knees and his pants are shoved down. 

Akihito screams. “Nye nye nye nye!” Mikhail’s hand strikes hard against the already battered flesh twice, and Akihito’s voice pitches towards ear-rupturing. 

In the midst of another swing, Suzuki grabs Mikhail’s hand. “Stop stop. Don’t you see you’re hurting him?”

“That’s the point, Suzuki.” Mikhail readies for another smack, but Suzuki stops him again. “What is it now?”

“No. I mean really hurting him. That bruising… it doesn’t look normal.”

Akihito’s sobbing into Mikhail’s pants already after two spanks. If Suzuki can convince everyone he doesn’t deserve more, he’ll be on his best behavior for him. He regrets giving Suzuki so much trouble the past few days. 

A cool hand rests on his ass. “He’s burning up.” Is he? Akihito didn’t notice. Wasn’t it just warm today?

Another man stands from his chair and walks closer, kneeling at Akihito’s prone form. The boy is too tired to care that everyone has a first-class view of his ass. The man puts his hand on his forehead. “It looks like you spanked him too hard. He has an infection from the bruising.”

“A what?” Mikhail’s flabbergasted reaction is the mirror of Suzuki. 

Yuri’s glower chills the room. He leaves, but hangs in the hall.

A pause in the wake of the shut door. 

“My mother had this when she fell and almost broke her hip. He’ll need antibiotics or else he might not make it through his fever.”

“Suzuki, call the doctor.”

“On it, boss.” The cool hand removes itself from his backside. Akihito swallows his whine. 

Mikhail pulls his pants back up and carries him to the door, abandoning dinner. He’s nauseous from the inversion and the change in position makes him lightheaded. “Thank you, Maskim.”

“Of course. I am loyal to you, Mikhail.”

“Yuri. We’ll be having a chat later on how hard you can discipline. For now, hands off.”

“I raised you. Look at what a mewling little quim you’ve become.”

“I grew up.” Mikhail bites out.

“No, you didn’t.”

**

The Maskim guy was right. The doctor, harried and sweating like he ran all the way to Mikhail’s room, confirmed the diagnosis.

“But why hasn’t this happened before?”

“After those incidents before, did you let him heal?” A pause. “Well, there’s your answer.”

The doctor tsks at his clipboard again. “Has he been eating well? He’s lost weight since I’ve seen him.”

Mikhail answers for Akihito. The boy is irritated that they’re talking about him over him, like he’s some infant who can’t even talk. But he’s too tired to complain, so he stays silent. “He’s been nauseous more often than not. He has a weak stomach. Sometimes strong smells make him nauseous.”

“Well, we’ve got to fix that. He’s 30 kg, and at 160 cm he’s dangerously underweight. He’s grown two and a half centimeters, and it’s not helping that his weight is only dropping. I’m going to prescribe him a daily multivitamin along with the antibiotics. Make sure that he takes one everyday with food.”

“How about his lightheadedness? He gets tired easily too.”

The doctor rubs the bridge of his nose. “How long has this been going on?”

Suzuki shakes his head. “Since he got here. He’s needed a nap or two everyday, and he sleeps through the night. He gets headaches often so he lays down.” 

“What? How come you didn't tell me?”

“It didn’t seem important. I’m sorry, Mikhail.”

“How often are his headaches?” The doctor starts scribbling on his notepad.

“Once every three days? Four days? I don’t know, I wasn’t keeping track.” 

“His dizzy spells?”

This time Mikhail answers. “Everytime he gets up too fast, or moves too fast.”

“And is he tired all day every day or during certain periods of the day?”

“Um… he seems tired all the time?”

The doctor closes his eyes, and takes four large inhales and exhales. “And his nausea? You told me certain smells make him nauseous. Is he nauseous certain times of day as well, like the morning? Or before a meal?”

“I haven’t kept track, but it seems like it’s on and off all through the day.”

“Alright. I recommend keeping him hydrated and keeping something easy on the stomach with him at all times so he can eat when he’s not nauseous. He needs to gain weight. How often does he pee?”

“Pretty often, I’ll say. He visits the bathroom more than anywhere else.”

“Does he have any heart palpitations? Any skipping or stuttering?” 

“I don’t know.” Both Suzuki and Mikhail shrug. 

“Akihito, have you felt any pain in your chest? Feel your heart skip or stutter?” The doctor finally looks at him. But for once, Akihito doesn’t want to be seen or heard.

“At least once a day.” Akihito’s reply is rough, his voice breaking from not talking. He clears his throat. “My chest feels tight sometimes too.”

“Do you remember when your heart palpitates?”

“...No. Sorry.”

“That’s fine. How about your chest? When does it feel tight?”

“Um… when I’m scared?” Akihito doesn’t want to admit it. It feels weak. But if it’s going to help, he might as well tell everything. The doctor can’t spread the information around, anyway. “A couple times after my chest felt really tight, I just zoned out.”

The doctor takes a lengthy stare at Akihito. 

“Zoned out as in you’re separate from your body or everything is distant?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Next question. Did you have cramps in your stomach a few weeks ago? Did you see any blood when you went to the bathroom or in your underwear?”

“It’s hard to remember. I think so? For both, I mean.”

“Do you get heartburn?”

“No, not really.”

“Doctor, are all these questions necessary?” 

The doctor glares. “Yes, if you want to prevent something like this from happening again. I just have to do an ultrasound to confirm.”

“An ultrasound?”

“Yes, you dimwits, an ultrasound.”

Suzuki lays him on the bed as the doctor pulls his shirt up and pants down and smears cold gel on his stomach. He takes out a portable ultrasound from his kit and plugs it into the outlet, hooking the system to his phone. “Stay still.”

“What. The. Fuck.” Akihito stares at the aliens that're apparently inside him. “What is that?!”

Mikhail and Suzuki stare at the image in shock. The ultrasound continues swooshing in time to heartbeats. 

“Looks like you’re about 8 weeks along. You’re pregnant with twins.”

“I’m male.”

“With you, anything is possible. Who’s the father?”

“It’s FeiLong, isn’t it?” Mikhail spits out, pissed.

“Yeah.” Akihito breathes. “He’s the only one who’d ever… who’d... I… I think he pulled out, though.”

“Pulling out doesn’t work more than a fourth of the time, so your pregnancy isn’t unexpected.”

“I-I’m pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“But how-”

“Considering that you’re only 10 months old yourself, I’ll say it’s quite a feat.”

“I’m-I’m 10 months old?” Today has been shock after shock. By now, he’s numb.

“Your body is 10 months old, yes, although you have the appearance of an 18 year old. We covered this last time.”

“I don’t remember last time.” That explained so much. Why Mikhail and Suzuki had taken to carrying him around, to tucking him in, to holding him. To them, he’s probably a literal baby.

“I’ll be switching your multivitamin with a prenatal, and I don’t recommend antibiotics, considering these ones are not pregnancy safe. Or kid safe. You’ll be better off feeding energy or whatever you do from your caregivers.”

“Okay.” Akihito’s response is robotic by this point. 

“Ignoring how FeiLong is a _literal_ **_cradle robber_** , I think it’s best if we rest for tonight. Is there anything else you want to mention, doctor?”

“Ah, yes. One more thing. I’ll make it quick.” The doctor starts packing up. “As much as you take care of your physical health, you need to take care of your mental health. Managing yourself will be better for you and for your babies. Try to limit stress.”

The doctor halts at the door. “And congratulations, Akihito.”

The door closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you guys going WTF, I’m telling you that I’ve left hints and clues about this from the first chapter on. 
> 
> Incubi and succubi in lore and tradition can change forms between the male and female at will. Incubi are also called sylvans, fauns, or storm demons. They can have offspring, called cambions. Cambions, or changelings, are historically powerful and more susceptible to the supernatural. Merlin, for example, is recorded to be a cambion. When I say changelings, yes, I do mean those changelings in European folk history have been left in place of a human baby to be raised among humans. 
> 
> I’ve tweaked lore a bit for ease. Instead of a sccubus having sex with a human male, passing the human sperm to an incubus, and then the incubus implanting the sperm in a human woman, I just went straight with the sex=possible baby. 
> 
> But. Then I calculated Akihito’s fertility based on the average fertility of an 18.5 year old american woman and… the math decided that he’s 1) pregnant and 2) with twins. The decision was out of my hands. If you’re angry, blame the probability gods. (I kid you not I had to use AP stats again what has come to my life)
> 
> If you want my notes on Incubi, feel free to leave a comment or a question.
> 
> >Children really do need physical touch to thrive. Without physical touch, it senses to their brains that their caretakers cannot take care of them properly at this time, so the baby essentially “hibernates” and does not advance cognitively or physically. They are waiting until their caregivers have enough energy and time to properly take care of them before they grow because growing is a risky endeavor. This phenomenon was first internationally remarked upon by Romanian orphanages. 
> 
> Essentially, lack of parental affection damages a child’s brain and body for life. 
> 
> This is a pretty good source if you want to start reading about it. Be careful though, it’s very triggering on every level:  
> https://www.apa.org/monitor/2014/06/neglect


	6. Forged in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if in a trance, Akihito runs to the man, heedless of Mikhail’s warnings. Suzuki still has a chance. He has to have a chance. FeiLong said that Akihito healed him, once. If he did it before, he can do it again. 
> 
> Suzuki lies still and breathless. Peaceful, atop an offering of his own blood. His top has already been taken off, instead torn to furtively wrap as a makeshift bandage around the bullet wounds.

“Misha Misha Misha Misha!” Mikhail tickles Akihito below his ribs. The boy can’t help but squeal. It’s a week after the disastrous dinner, and all of Mikhail’s meetings are finished for the day. Suzuki has just finished braiding his hair, claiming it’s falling into his soups.

“Yes?” Mikhail blows a raspberry on the smaller belly. Akihito’s legs kick a bit, and his giggles threaten to shake the older off. Suzuki, at the doorway, smiles.

Akihito plows Mikhail into a cuddle and tries to level his laughing. He dislikes how tickles force him to laugh when he doesn’t want to laugh. “Sorry I was a bad boy.” He whispers it into Mikhail’s ears like it’s a secret. 

“Oh, Akihito. You’re a good boy. You just have naughty moments.” Mikhail hugs the boy closer. That’s not true, though. Akihito’s killed. He’s just like everyone else here.

“Is that why you were mad?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were really mad last week, when the doctor was there. Is it because of me?”

“Akihito.” Mikhail turns serious. “I want you to tell me something. It might be hard, but I want you to be honest with me no matter what. Okay?”

Akihito casts Suzuki a look. Suzuki’s face is rigid, like the time a person called him a koyzol, whatever that was. But the bodyguard only nods. “Okay?” Akihito murmurs.

“Okay.”

“When FeiLong...had sex with you, did you want it?”

Oh. So that’s what Mikhail was worried about? “Uh, yeah. I asked for it.” 

Suzuki’s face pinches. Mikhail’s stays the same. “What I meant was… through the entire time you had sex, did you want it?”

“The entire time?” Akihito thinks back to so long ago. Remembers the sway of FeiLong’s hair as he rocked into Akihito, the hardness of his body, how scary it was. How good it felt. How disgusting it made him feel afterwards. But he’s made for it. He just has to get used to it. The blond didn’t want it at first, but he’s supposed to want it. It’s good for him. He should want it.

But Mikhail asked for him to be honest. “It… it hurt a lot and it felt weird and then it felt good? I told him to stop but he didn’t. But it’s good that he didn’t, because I have to get used to it. It’s-it’s what my body’s made for-”

“Akihito. Did you want it?”

He searches Mikhail’s and Suzuki’s faces, but he doesn’t know what they want him to say. Why is this so important? But Mikhail asked him to be honest. “...no. I didn’t want it.” Akihito confesses. 

“Am I a bad boy for not wanting it? I tried to want it but I felt disgusting and I threw up but everyone else likes it so I want to like it too and it did feel good for a bit but it was so scary but I wanted to be a good boy-”

Mikhail engulfs him into a bear hug with Suzuki. Akihito’s crushed between the two on the bed like he’s in a sandwich, but instead of suffocating, the pressure relieves something in his chest and throat. He melts into the embrace. 

“You’re a good boy, Akihito. You don’t have to do something you don’t want to for you to be a good boy.”

“So you’ll stop spanking me? I don’t want that. I can be a good boy without it!”

The tense moment passes. Mikhail and Suzuki’s upper bodies shake. 

“Stop laughing! Spanking hurts!”

“And I don’t want the collar, too! And I don’t want Yuri, or onions, or the guy who called me a koyzol! And I really don’t want to be stuck here because I want to go back home!”

“Sorry Akihito, but the collar’s for your own good. And you can’t go back home yet. Don’t you like it here?”

“But that’s what FeiLong said too.” Even though he’s suffered so much under that perverse man’s hands, he can’t help but hope that he made it out of that ship uninjured. And he hopes that Yoh saved FeiLong. Yoh, after all, loves FeiLong. 

Despite everything, Akihito can’t bring himself to hate FeiLong. All FeiLong did was lash out- pitifully lash out, yes. FeiLong learned, in the end, what it was like to care for someone else other than Asami, if only for a little bit.

Mikhail takes a deep breath. “Why don’t we eat dinner? It’s getting late.”

“No.”  _ I need to get home. Why do you ignore that? _

“Alright. Then I guess I’ll eat the pelmeni  _ all by myself _ -”

“I’m coming!” The one thing that's keeping Akihito’s hopes up is that doorway in the back of the garden.

**

“When is FeiLong coming?”

“I’m not sure.” Suzuki shakes his head. “Don’t ask more. I’ll tell you when I know more.”

“Alright.” Akihito inhales. Buries his face into Suzuki’s chest and mutters. “I’m scared, Suzuki-san.”

“About what?”

“Having babies. I don’t want them! I just want Misha. And you. And Yoh. And FeiLong. And I want to go back home!”

Suzuki sighs. Pats his back as he’s carried to his bed for a nap. “It’s okay that you’re scared, little guy. If you really don’t want them, we can make them go away next week. We’ll talk to the doctor about it, alright?”

“I’m scared, Suzuki-san. I just want to go back home. Why did Misha have to steal me away?”

Akihito feels sobs building up in his chest. The murders, the CD, the kidnapping, the pain, the casino, the guns, getting so close to home only to be kidnapped again… he’s tried to ignore everything and go with the flow and try to escape but Akihito knows now there’s no escape. If he does manage to get away, he’ll be captured again and he’ll be forever a plaything to people who don’t care about him but rather what he means.

Suzuki said that he was trying to help him get away, but it’s been months and Suzuki hasn’t said anything since. Maybe Suzuki just said it during the heat of the moment: to try to be sympathetic when sympathy was needed. Maybe that’s all what Akihito is to Suzuki and Mikhail: someone to be chained and to be seen and shown off, but never to be heard. 

At least Yoh tried to help him. At least Yoh followed him to the ship and tried to protect him. At least Yoh tried to bring him home. During the night, right before he falls asleep, sometimes Akihito wishes that it were Yoh and FeiLong instead of Suzuki and Mikhail and Yuri. Because at least Yoh cared. Cared enough to try to kill for him.

“It’s okay, little guy. It’ll all be okay.” Suzuki wraps a tight arm around Akihito and starts to lightly bounce him on his knee. The blond can’t help but start to cry. His breaths hitch and his face wets. It’s a different kind of crying than from physical pain. He doesn’t wail, or blubber, or choke. His tears just stream silently down his cheeks, his spassic breathing muffled under clenching teeth and pressing lips. 

No matter how much he screams, nothing changes. Nobody listens to him. Nobody has time for a snotty, tantruming child. He has to rely on himself. It’s always been this way: his mother and father are both overseas workers, and by the time he graduated high school he can count the number of times he’s seen his parents on both hands with fingers left over. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to move to Tokyo and pick up a job. 

He has himself to rely on. He’s never let anyone get close. He’s not the kind of person who deserves close people. 

Akihito wants to throw Suzuki’s arms off, to slap away the easy comforting gestures. He hates Suzuki and Mikhail’s patronization, their infantilization of him. Hates how effortlessly they can carry him around, manhandle him, subjugate him and quiet him. Like he’s to be taken care of, but not to have opinions or to have a will of his own. Hates how his captivity can be justified away, and how Akihito can’t do anything about it. Hates that they see him as a child. 

Hates the fact that he likes how they comfort him, hold him to sleep, cuddle him when he’s anxious. Hates how they whisper sweet nothings and pat his head and bribe him with food. Hates that he drinks up the attention of murderers and begs for more.

Akihito just hides his face into Suzuki’s strong pectorals. The older textes something into his phone while patting his back. “It’s all going to be okay, Akihito. You know, we’ll support you if you decide to keep them. We’ll also support you if you don’t decide to keep them. It’s your choice.”

Akihito doesn’t want to keep them. He doesn’t want any babies of his to be raised in the mafia, around murderers. To grow up being experimented on or looked down on or to not know a family. To grow up knowing that they are different in a dangerous way, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

The door slams open. Mikhail barges forth, enveloping Akihito into a tight embrace. He must have come directly from a meeting. “Aki-chan, don’t worry. Me and Suzuki will support you either way. Just know that if you do want to keep them, I’ll take care of them. I’ll make sure they’ll want for nothing, alright?”

Wanting for nothing is different than guaranteeing a good family for them to grow up in. Akihito keeps his mouth shut to gulp down his sobs. 

If he does keep them, he wants them to be as far away from the likes of FeiLong and Mikhail as possible. And the sheer idea of carrying FeiLong’s child- the child of a cold, sadistic killer and kidnapper and who knows what else- sends something wretched down his stomach. 

Akihito has forgiven FeiLong long ago, but forgiveness does not equal trust. Akihito has long forgiven Yoh as well, and he feels tired. 

“I’m scared.” He finally whispers, between the two men.

“Don’t worry, daddy’s here. And Suzuki’s here too. We’ll make sure you’ll be alright.”

And that’s what’s wrong.

**

Akihito’s been with Mikhail all day. The past week, everyone in the mansion has been smelling uneasy. Especially Yuri. Suzuki has been disappearing for hours at a time only to come back smelling of gunpowder and residue, of frustration and anticipation. 

And today, Suzuki’s been gone all day. A few other regular faces have also been away. 

Shouts ring in the distance. Akihito smells blood and slow heartbeats and eucalyptus before he sees Suzuki, bleeding and broken and his body halfway giving up in the midst of six others in critical condition. There’s less men here than there are missing from this morning. Behind him, he hears whispers of sabotage. Akihito already knows who it must be: Yuri. 

He smells the decay starting to set in. 

No. Not Suzuki. Not another death.

As if in a trance, Akihito runs to the man, heedless of Mikhail’s warnings. Suzuki still has a chance. He has to have a chance. FeiLong said that Akihito healed him, once. If he did it before, he can do it again. 

Suzuki lies still and breathless. Peaceful, atop an offering of his own blood. His top has already been taken off, instead torn to furtively wrap as a makeshift bandage around the bullet wounds. 

“Suzuki-san.” Akihito calls, the wash of the ocean* answering back. He starts sucking energy from the pale body, concentrating on how it feels. Memorizing it and trying to imagine what it must be like in reverse. The push and pull of the water echoes, filling him. But Akihito needs to fill Suzuki. 

Like the slow lowering of a tide, the blond fights back the pull and instead  _ pushes _ . It’s not waiting for the rise of the water, but rather the ebb. He feels the drain, the sweat beading into his eyes, how each breath feels like there’s less air for him. But he also hears the susurrus of fall leaves, the howl of a lost wolf, smells eucalyptus over the steam of a mug of tea. Suzuki’s golden glow is brightening, little by little. 

“Suzuki. Suzuki. Suzuki.” Akihito prays. 

And Suzuki blinks his eyes open.

“Hey, little guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lux Aeterna by Edward Elgar is the Nimrod theme from the Enigma Variations. If you haven’t listened to the Enigma Variations, I recommend you to try it. There’s a hidden variation in the theme. Nobody yet knows for sure what that variation is. 
> 
> Lux Aeterna:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwdeqVmXlHk  
> If you listen to it you can feel the push and pull of the tides lowering or rising higher (just my opinion).


	7. Hope is the last thing to leave Pandora's box. Dangerous, yes. Evil, yes. More than all other things combined.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monster can never be cut out of him, but Akihito hopes that at least the murderer has.

Out of the 30 who entered the raid, the bratva lost 11 and suffered 6 others in critical condition. Out of those 6, 5 died the next day. Suzuki survived. 

More than half of the force assembled to exterminate Cherenbyl did not survive. Cherenbyl lied in wait to blitz the squadron.

Suzuki lulls Akihito to sleep, the shorter’s feathery mess of spun golden hair on top of the bodyguard’s strong heartbeat. When Akihito wakes next, Suzuki is gone and Mikhail smiles. 

“We’re off to war.”

**

“Hey! Unhand me!”

Yuri just grunts. 

“Stop it! I can walk on my own!”

The grip on Akihito’s upper arm tightens. The larger man pushes him into the room head first. 

The smell of blood hits Akihito like a wall. Decay and iron and miasma and death is so thick in the air Akihito gags, eyes watering. 

A plastic bit is shoving into the shorter’s teeth, the sweet moisture of Albuterol itching down his throat with an inhale. Akihito slaps the inhaler away, but his breathing is already better. 

His chest flutters, bird light. His lungs refuse to fully open, like a flower bud furling in circles at night. 

It’s an infirmary of broken men, biting antiseptic, sour overripeness. Akihito can tell they’re going to die. 

“Uncle Yuri,” Akihito gasps out, wispy and raspy and confused. He’s scared of Yuri, but he doesn’t want to show it. Is Misha scared of Yuri too?

“Heal them.”

“I don’t understand-” Yuri’s large gloved hand clenches tight on the younger’s wrist, grinding bones together. The shape of the smaller hand bends as it’s compressed. “Hurts-”

“Watch your mouth.”

Akihito stills, awash with the cold realisation of the power in Yuri’s hands. Of what they can do to him. Of course, he never forgot. He just is reminded of the full depth of horror of what happened. Of what can happen.

“I-I need more energy to heal.”

Yuri stares at him.

“I need skin contact. For energy.”

The bulky man does not move. Someone moans. It's the kind of delirious, so hot so cold I’m in pain I can’t think moan. He can taste the hurt and suffering thick in the air. He’s unsurprised his lungs rebelled earlier and how he still is trying to get used to it, metering his breaths. It’s wretching to hear, but Akihito wasn’t lying about needing energy.

Akihito carefully doesn’t think that he’s being used as child labor or a factory or a piece of warehouse machinery to heal these people. He has an ability, so why shouldn’t he help people if he can? Isn’t this what he was hoping for? To be good? 

Another part of him desperately regrets showing healing abilities he wasn't even sure he had. Another part of him is disgusted that he’s being used as a golden goose, passed around and stolen and used until something better comes along. But he’s not a person, after all. He’s something different-lesser. Inhuman. Why should it matter?

Yuri carefully shucks his shirt off, eyeing Akihito, keeping his gun harness on. 

“Um. Sorry. The more skin, the better.”

“The more you try to seduce me, the more I know you’re really just immoral scum.” Akihito’s pupils dilate to the older’s low whisper. Yuri’s going to hurt him again. He knows it. “I know you told Misha. I should teach you how to be obedient.”

The younger remembers the threat very well. He stays statue still as the taller strips without delay, dropping the clothes onto a free bed. His heart threatens to beat out of his ribcage. He had not expected Yuri to acquiesce with his request. The injured must be very important to Yuri. 

The older man grunts, tilting his head to the incubus. The younger hurriedly disrobes, unwilling to displease Yuri more. 

Yuri sneers and snatches Akihito’s wrist, hauling him onto the sick cot, ignoring the squawks. “You going to take all day?”

Akihito holds his breath and slaps his body straight onto Yuri’s, oofing when the air is punched out of him and knocking his chin painfully on a hard clavicle. He finds the heat and life inside the trunk below him and nuzzles into the beating of Yuri’s strong heart as he starts drinking. Instinctively wrapping his legs and arms around the stiff body, he gags down the energy, staunchly disregarding the feel of salty milk, the mocking cooing of a cuckoo, the scorching heat of a dikang bed-stove* burning fire through the night. 

Energy fills his hungry maw and buzzes through him, around him, humming something high and soft and ringing. The vibrations are familiar like the harmonizing of a string orchestra tuning. 

When Akihito hugs tighter, clamping his hips to hips and legs to a firm back and arms to a corded neck, Yuri whips him off and clamps a hard hand to the smaller neck. Strong fingers bend the cartilage around Akihito’s throat, around his already battered wrist. He hears a pop. 

He can’t breathe.

With his free hand, he tries to push the hand off. He arches to try to get more oxygen, but it just gives a better grip to Yuri’s large hands. He’s gasping and his lungs are closing up. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s being choked or if he’s having an asthma attack. But it doesn’t matter.

The words he tries to shout come up stuck in his throat, sounding like little wheezes instead of speech. His vision spots with little black dots, like a screen turning from a 2-up** to a 3-up to a 6-up to a 20-up, until he can’t see. He can’t even make out general outlines. 

He can’t see Yuri. 

Akihito is going to die by the hands of someone who is worse than him by design. Someone who’s a bigger big bad. He thinks for a moment, if he wants to suck and take the life out of the hands killing him. Search the body for the shock collar key and run off, like the way he’s dreamed.

But he shakes that thought away. He doesn’t kill, not anymore. If he dies, dying is better than being leashed and frogmarched and kept under the “care” of those who probably ridicule how infantile he is behind his back. 

After all, Suzuki swore an escape but forgot about his promises in light of his stay as the bratva’s big baby, in the light of day. The bodyguard probably thinks that he belongs here. Akihito doesn’t even see Suzuki these days, and when he does, the man ignores him or makes the blond shut up for the few minutes they are together. He’s probably fed up with how useless Akihito’s become and he’s finally showing how he truly feels.

Nobody can keep how they really feel under wraps for so long. Especially when they’re dealing with a retarded brat like him day in and day out. Akihito tells himself he’s glad that Suzuki is feeling open enough with him to show him how he really should be treated. It’s better than the acting and lying and the fake smiles. At least Akihito knows the truth now. 

At least Akihito knows that he’s still something less than human. That hasn’t changed. Growing up, he knew he was too bad to be a real person. Somehow, he forgot that. He should be thankful for the reminder. If he really thinks he’s worth being treated like a person, he might go and hurt people. He might take advantage and become a bigger monster than he is. A bigger monster than he is now. 

Akihito grew up thinking he’s intrinsically worthless and was made to be less than a person. And then his inhumanness confirms all his suspicions. It’s good that other people saw his unnaturalness and taught him how to become not such a bad monster, even if they can’t take the monster out of him. He’s lied and he’s selfish, always screaming for his precious freedom. He’s bad. He’s killed. He’s murdered innocents, people who were just in his way, people he doesn’t even know. They might have had families, and Akihito wasn’t bothered enough to find out before leaving their bodies to rot below stolen drugs or above their pooling, cooling blood.

The monster can never be cut out of him, but Akihito hopes that at least the murderer has. 

So Akihito just pants and gurgles and makes no move to wipe the drool dripping down the side of his chin. He stops trying to fight, though his body involuntarily jerks and heaves to breathe. It’s not like he has the right to fight when he’s done so many abominations. Gods, the people he’s killed being “bad” was just a weak justification to himself after all. 

Akihito’s old enough to know that nobody’s completely bad, like how nobody’s completely good. When did he distort so much to become the judge, jury and executioner? 

When Yuri’s hands release the grip on his throat, Akihito doesn’t notice he’s breathing until a moment later.

He pulls tiny desperate gulps in. The room comes back in blurbs and soon color and then clear, in full bloom. The smell of decay barrels back in, and a few coughs forces out the little oxygen he manages.

A familiar plastic bit is shoved into his mouth and he inhales the saccharine mist of Albuterol timed with his sharp inspirations. He can only hold the medicine for half a second before it’s coughed out, but Yuri just puffs another dose, another dose, another dose until he can hold the medicine in his lungs for 10 seconds. 

Yuri’s fully clothed, standing as far from Akihito as casually possible. He feeds Akihito another puff a few minutes later, and the boy obediently takes it in. 

Akihito was so close to death, again. He wants his end to be in his hands, in his control. He doesn’t want to die by someone else’s hands, but he isn’t picky. He can’t be picky. 

“Heal them.”

Akihito nods, head and eyes demure, breathing in little wafts of death and decay and lingering sweetness. 

He heals them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A dikang bed-stove is a traditional traditional brick platform that functions as a bed, eating, and everyday working area. The bottom is filled with pipes that lead back to a fire in another room. The fire is used to warm the bed-stove so the people in cold climates can stay toasty. At night, they light the fire and then extinguish the flames once they want to sleep.
> 
> The kang is also used in Manchurial burial rites. Kang are one of the oldest recorded duct systems in the world. It is also the first known heating platform in history. There are still many Kang used today, similar to how Kotatsu are popular in Japan. 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kang_bed-stove
> 
> **N-ups are used for multiple pages to be displayed on a single sheet of paper. The pages of information are written or printed smaller to fit the page. A 2-up has two pages fit into one displayed sheet. A 6-up would have 6 pages on one sheet. 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N-up
> 
> BTW, does anyone know about a fic that has Asami’s brother trick him into imprisoning Akihito and attaching a ball and chain to him and then he finds out it was all a ruse for Asami to break the one that loves him? I can’t seem to find it. It should be on ao3 somewhere. It’ll be sad if the author deleted it. It has lots of angst ;)
> 
> Also! Much apologies to my Spanish and Portugeuse-speaking commenters. Spanish is my second language and it’s very much at a third-grade level. : (


	8. White (K)Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suzuki sighs and his breathing slows. The bodyguard’s muscles steadily relax until he’s asleep. 
> 
> Hot teardrops trickle into the blond’s pillow. It warms Akihito up enough for him to sleep, too.

Akihito can’t sleep. It’s okay. He doesn’t know why, but after healing a lot he feels sluggish, overtired and exhausted but sleep eludes him. He’s only doing what he’s meant to do, but instead of dying by inches like before he’s dying by miles now. He knows his life is shortening. 

He’s giving his own life energy to others. This is probably what he deserves. 

Misha doesn’t say anything. The boss probably already knows that Yuri drags Akihito into the underbelly for long hours at a time now. The boy is so used to the stench of decay and blood and death that the absence of such perks his attention. 

If Misha hasn’t mentioned anything about it by now, Akihito knows that he’s supposed to be here. He’s supposed to listen to Yuri, to heal body after body, to give up his own lifespan. He’s supposed to swallow down the hot flashes when Yuri threatens to find a boy to whip when he’s not healing the sick quickly enough or when he’s falling asleep by accident or when he’s being too impertinent. It’s okay. It’s how it’s supposed to be. 

Akihito doesn’t know why, but he turns sick at the sight of bullets or at the sweet sourness of spoiling flesh. It’s okay. He just has to get over it.

His eyes are closed, his breaths quiet, his limbs still. Mikhail is deep in slumber on the other side of the bed. Eucalyptus wafts closer, the first time in half a week. 

A few minutes later, Suzuki creaks open the door. He smells like gunpowder and regret and bitterness and grief and old blood, odor strong despite the shower he took a few minutes prior.

Akihito pretends to sleep. 

The older man slowly toes off his steel toe boots and slips cold hands and feet under the comforter to press against Akihito’s stomach. 

The boy’s flesh flinches from the temperature shock, but then he rubs his hands and cradles each icy foot and hand one by one, folding them under his ribs, between his legs, sandwiching them at his elbows and armpits and knees, careful of his bloated stomache. When one part of the shorter becomes colder, he switches the appendage into another hot crevice. He almost moves Suzuki’s right hand under his chin, but he remembers the shock collar. 

Suzuki sighs and his breathing slows. The bodyguard’s muscles steadily relax until he’s asleep. 

Hot teardrops trickle into the blond’s pillow. It warms Akihito up enough for him to sleep, too.

**

The morning after, Suzuki is gone save for a mess in the bed on the opposite side of Akihito. Misha wakes the boy with pomegranate juice. Akihito can smell a hint of eucalyptus. He doesn’t take the juice. 

“Can I be with you today?”

Misha shakes his head. “I must go where it is too dangerous to bring you.”

“More dangerous than lunches?”

Misha smiles. “Yes. I’ll bring you when you’re ready.”

Which, to Misha, might as well be never. Akihito doesn’t want to go back to Yuri. He should have killed Yuri when he had the chance. 

No. That’s the fear talking. He’ll be out of here soon enough. 

Cuckoo crones. Yuri steps inside the room. “Misha.”

“Uncle Yuri.”

Yuri nods to Akihito. The smallest blond comes, suppressing a wince when Yuri clamps a hand on Akihito’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Bye, Misha.”

Misha waves back, eyes sharp. “Bye, Aki.”

**

It’s the ward again. Akihito sets up to take energy from Yuri, but Yuri shakes his head. So Akihito just uses what energy he has to heal the worst of the injuries under the sweltering gaze of Yuri. 

When he’s swaying and seeing black, he takes a moment to regain his senses. He looks up, ready to move on to the next patient.

There’s Aaronka, and the other men from before. 

Akihito steps backwards. “U-u-uncle Yuri, what?”

Yuri slaps the shorter’s thigh in response. He recoils, the flesh smarting through his pants. Akihito shuts his mouth so fast his teeth clack.

The men smile. “I can’t believe it. You’ve actually got Angel.”

Angel? Is he in one of the beds? If incubi like him can exist, it’s not a leap to understand that angels exist as well. This is bad. If an angel lands in Yuri’s hands-well.

And Yuri is betraying Mikhail right in front of his eyes, again. 

Misha is out on a meeting. He’s not shouting distance or even running distance. And nobody in the ward is awake to know what is happening. That’s good, though. If Yuri knows that someone is awake, he’ll shoot them to keep the betrayal safe.

Akihito tears his eyes off the threat and moves to dress. Yuri clamps a hand on this wrist, hauling him over his shoulder like he’s a burlap sack of potatoes in one swift move, knocking the breath out of him. 

The shorter has to get off, get away, escape. He has to protect Angel. Who knows what they’re going to do with Angel? Nobody deserves to be with Yuri. He almost gets to jerk off Yuri, but a few deafening smacks on his backside makes him arch and keen breathlessly on the uncomfortable shoulder digging into his diaphragm. He can’t even fully breathe in this position, wheezing on every step Yuri marches onward, further away from safety. 

“Stay still, or I’ll make you stay still.”

Akihito gulps. He gets the hint and stops struggling. 

The other men laugh. Aaronka smirks. “Still having trouble with that brat?”

Yuri grunts, ducking through the window and kicking the pane closed. The brisk, cold air is dry and painful in Akihito’s lungs. He can’t help but cough, his wheezes turning painful. “Misha spoils him. It’s no wonder he’s so troublesome.”

Akihito lays still in fear as they depart the ward, Yuri carrying him all the while to another secret exit. He cranes to see if there’s anyone else, if they’ve taken Angel. But Angel’s not here. 

He hopes that Angel won’t come and be taken by Yuri and Cherenoyl. 

This is the perfect time to fight Yuri, to run away. But Akihito knows that even if he does get far enough away, the collar would shock him senseless and he’ll be in for a bigger punishment. It’s hard to admit to himself, but he’s scared. He’s been scared of Yamazaki, of Asami, of the Yakuza, of FeiLong and then Misha and then Yuri. He’s felt unwanted from Suzuki. But he’s never been afraid of Yoh, or felt unwanted in his presence. 

Akihito wants Yoh. He wants the easy companionship, the teasing, his quiet essence. Akihito misses the rock that Yoh effortlessly offered. Akihito misses Yoh  _ so much _ right now. 

He just wants to go home, even though he knows he has nobody waiting for him back in Japan. More than that, he wants to go back with Yoh, even if he’s under FeiLong again. FeiLong’s reasonable. 

Suzuki’s been ignoring him the past weeks, and he just wants how it was before, even if it was all a lie. He wants slow mornings and quiet domesticity, just Akihito and Yoh and Suzuki, living softly where there was no mafia, no guns, no death. He wants to be cradled by someone who wouldn’t thoughtlessly raise a hand to him whenever he does something they don’t like. 

He wants to be safe, and to be loved, and to be free. 

Yuri walks past the gates of the mansion and into a plateless car. Akihito is thrown in, but doesn’t dare sit up. Yuri clamps a hand down on the nape of his neck a few seconds and he stays, pliant. He’s kidnapped again, but this time they don’t need to drug him or shoot him full of bullets or tie him down. 

He goes, willingly, freely, a colt broken in. Lifts his chin without prompting for the blindfold. Doesn’t twitch from the firm hand anchored to the back of his neck, resting on his collar, ready to scruff him and keep him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s pretty sad how broken horses become. There’s this image of a horse tied to a plastic chair that weighs about 2 pounds at most, and the horse doesn’t tug itself free. When they were a foal, they probably tried to tug free from where they were tied until they were bloody, and now they can’t escape even when they can physically escape so easily. 
> 
> It’s the same with many different animals, including humans. We make our own barriers.
> 
> On a different note, there’s one horse that is responsible for father about 40% of the race horses today called Potatoooooooo, or Pot-8-Os, or Potatoes. After a historic (and quite horrifically abusive) winning career, he retired to stud… Let’s say many times. Innumerable times. Enough times to star in an SPCA commercial a few hundred times over. 
> 
> Poor Akihito. He’s being treated no better than a racehorse or an energy conversion factory. The worst part is that he accepts it.


	9. Negotiating With Terrorists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami gazes back, eyes dark and hooded, blood spotting his mouth. The man is hanging by his wrists. 
> 
> “Take me home. Please, FeiLong promised that you would take me home.“

Akihito’s tired. They locked him up in a bare, steel room in a vessel. The rhythmic rocking of the waves carries him to sea, lulling his weary body to sleep.

He wonders if Angel is safe. 

When he wakes, he has to pee. He’s been having to pee every few minutes, it feels like. His belly is bloating and uncomfortable. He knocks on the door.

“Please? Is anyone there? I need to use the bathroom.”

The door slams open and Akihito is pulled harshly by his wrist, almost popping his hand off. He’s pulled to the bathroom and the man sneers as the blond pees into the industrial toilet.

As he’s herded back to the cell, Akihito takes a chance. “Can I have a blanket?”

The man stares, long and hard. Smiles. The younger doesn’t trust that smile. “Sure, sweetie-pie.” 

Akihito doesn’t trust any of them, but the man throws in a comforter. It’s more than he'd hoped for. 

The man throws Akihito onto the blanket, slamming the metal door shut. He lands on his hip, hurting so much only after a few minutes can he drag himself up. 

Inside his stomach, he feels flutters. Not sure if he’s imagining things, he lays a cold hand on his belly. 

He feels a few flutters, again, light as a butterfly. But light as it is, it’s there. 

Akihito feels sick. He’s carrying the babies of a man who punishes him so harshly, who kidnapped him like he’s a prize to be won, who didn’t treat him like a person until the last minute. 

And Suzuki said that he would get the doctor to come to talk to him about if he wants to keep the babies or not in a week. That was a lie. 

Suzuki lies a lot. So does Misha.

FeiLong and Yoh… loathe as Akihito is to admit it, but they never lied to him. Especially Yoh. Yoh probably doesn’t know how to lie. Akihito wishes that he’s carrying Yoh’s pups instead of FeiLong’s. He could ignore the babies when they weren’t moving, but now that they’re growing bigger and active, he feels like he can’t escape FeiLong. He can’t get how the man’s long hair fell down on the incubus’ back when Akihito lay below, naked and trembling and scared. But FeiLong punished him anyway. 

  
  


He forgave FeiLong before he needed forgiving, but he won’t forget. 

He never meant to grow a baby. He doesn’t even know how to be a person himself. He’s just a child, a useless and idiotic boy. He's a stupid baby himself.

Akihito chuckles self-deprecatingly. And for all those weeks spent valiantly trying to ignore the life inside him only to be foiled by his own body. 

What a joke. 

He curls up in the comforter to sleep again. It’s not like he can do anything else.

**

A few hours later, he comes to a loud bang. There are multiple heartbeats beyond the door. The men from before come in, the excitement palpable in the air. They don’t even close the door after themselves, confident in their power. 

They’re right. Akihito can’t escape. He’ll just be caught. 

Akihito rises to sit in his comforter burrito. He backs up like a caterpillar until his back is to metal, boxed in a corner. 

“M-may I help you?”

The man from before leers. “Yes, you can. A trade for a trade. Equivalent exchange, and all that. You get my gist?”

The boy glances at Yuri casually leaning on the wall in another corner. 

The men circle closer. “Dear old Uncle Yuri took you in and took care of you. Don’t you think it’s time to pay him back for all that he did?” This man is tall and feels like permafrost in summer. The man glances at Akihito’s ouroboros tattoo. He claps Yuri on the back. Yuri grunts, shooting the man an annoyed glare. 

Cold sinks in his stomach. “P-pay uncle Yura back?”

“Yeah. You didn’t think he let you frolic around for free, did you? You’ve been freeloading for long enough. Why don’t you show some gratitude?” Akihito pulls his comforter closer, to cover all of him but his head.

Yuri still says nothing. 

Akihito swallows. Bows his head. “Th-thank you, Uncle Yura.”

Another man pipes up. He has grey eyes. “Cute, but that’s not going to cut it. Why don’t you try a different thanks, little guy?”

A different thanks? What?

“Thank you very much for...taking me in, Uncle Yura.”

Laughter. “Don’t think you understand, kid. Why don’t we show you what kind of thanks you should be showing?”

They’re close enough to touch him, now. The one who gave him the blanket pulls the layers off, seemingly not even noticing how hard Akihito clung to them. 

The boy tries to grab them back, but the man just leans down and casually pins his wrists to the floor. Akihito tries to kick, but another man holds both his legs in one hand, looking bored but aura simmering with anticipation. 

Akihito’s scared. 

“U-uncle Yura! I’m scared!”

Yuri doesn’t react. It’s like Akihito’s not here, even though Yuri is looking straight at Akihito.

“Uncle Yura! Please!”

Boots on metal. He hears grunting and flesh on flesh. Oil on feathers. 

Somehow, Cherenboyl hauls Asami to the same cell as Akihito and the bloodied men try to clip Asami to a padded cuff. The Sion boss kicks and twists all the while. Two men go down before another gets tired and punches Asami in the stomach strong enough to daze him. They manage to get another cuff on. 

The men said that Yuri got them Angel. Is Asami Angel?!

Asami’s struggles reinvigorate his own. While the men are distracted, Akihito manages to slip free his wrists and a leg before he’s slammed down again. He jerks up and down and sideways, trying to get free. The fingers just tighten on him until it hurts so much, tears gather in his eyes. He gasps at the pain, still trying to wriggle out. 

The grey-eyed man whispers. “Try that again and you’ll regret it, bud.”

But Asami’s here. 

“Asami.” The blond whispers.

Asami gazes back, eyes dark and hooded, blood spotting his mouth. He’s hanging by his wrists. 

“Take me home. Please, FeiLong promised that you would take me home.“

The man backhands Akihito. For long moments all he can see is white. 

“-ut up.”

Where is Misha? Or Suzuki? 

Please, where are they? 

“You ready to talk, Asami?”

The permafrost man takes off his jacket and chooses a whip from the line of torture instruments. He’s heavily tattooed.

“Still not talking? I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in.”

Asami smirks. “Do you think you’ll walk away unscathed for this?”

“Not if you don’t return alive.” Akihito’s breath stutters. He remembers the premonition: If Cherenbyl was not stopped, everyone would touch a certain death.

“Mister, p-please.” His throat is thick. It’s hard to shape the words out. The man on top of him releases his legs, but he can’t really move them if he wanted. They’ve fallen asleep and painful tickles tinge down the appendages. They twitch, but don’t do anything else. “Don’t kill him. I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll thank you, I’ll sing to you, I’ll heal you-anything!”

His legs are red and splotchy raised with weals, forming perfect impressions of hands. 

“Just please. Don’t kill.”

Akihito can’t believe what’s coming out of his mouth. It’s hypocrisy at its best. He’s a murderer. Everyone in this room is probably a murderer. He had a first-hand view of Asami torturing another. 

However that may be, he’s tired of murder, of blood on his hands. He can’t change the past, but he can make different decisions in the present. He’s older now. He’s learned.

“Oh? You’ll do whatever we want?”

The boy swallows. Hangs his head, so he can’t look at Asami. “Yes.” Musters up the courage. “I-If you do no harm, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Everyone’s eyes come to him.

The words come to him, jumbled, unbidden. He whispers them as they rise up his chest. “Primum non nocere. Do no evil, so shall harm come to thee. Love your enemies. Men, you are brothers; why do you want to hurt each other? Do not repay evil with evil-”

He’s knocked flat on his back, punched in the throat. Not the first time, he’s breathless and gasping and arching like a fish out of the water, ugly and wheezing and tears dripping down his eyelashes. The residue of cigarettes on Asami isn’t helping matters either. 

“Stop spouting that nonsense.” Multiple men are chuckling. “It’s not going to get you anywhere, stupid boy.”

He claws at his nonfunctioning throat. He doesn’t know why he said those things. He doesn’t even read the bible. But it takes their attention off of Asami, and that’s enough. Asami has to be strong enough to get them out of here, to take him home. At least one of them has to be alert, and Akihito doesn’t trust himself.

“What a pretty crier.”

But as the seconds drag on, he realizes that it’s not just breathlessness. He’s having an asthma attack. His airways are closing up, his throat swelling. Every breath is a struggle. 

“It smells good in here. Anyone else smell it or is it just me?”

He. He can’t breathe. 

A chorus of agreements sounds from the men. 

Does Yuri even carry an inhaler? He’s doubtful any of them carry Albuterol on this cargo ship. 

“Please.” He tries to yell, but he can’t even hear it above his desperate gasps. 

The 18-year-old hears something light being caught. It rattles for a second, and then he feels the familiar sweet mist puffing into his mouth. 

He doesn’t open his eyes. 

By the time his gasps subside to faint wheezing and he feels like half the canister has been puffed in front of his face, he opens his eyes. The inhaler is tossed to the corner of the blanket. 

Asami is staring at him, but all of the men are shaken even if they’re trying to hide it. Good. If they’re off their game, it will be easier to escape-

_But escape where?_ His mind asks. _Do you even have a home?_

“What do you say, boy?” It’s Aaron.

“T-thank you.” He manages to rasp out. “Do you promise?”

The scar down Aaron’s eye glints in the lighting. He smirks. “Yeah, sure. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” The man is lying. He does not promise. The boy knows this.

Akihito holds out a hooked pinky, eyes wide. He doesn’t realize it until now that nobody’s restraining him. The door is open. If he can run, he’s free to go. But Angel - Asami is here. 

A long, disbelieving pause. “Fuck no.”

The grey-eyed man snickers. “C’mon, Aaron. It’s a cutesy little pinky swear.”

“No.” But even as he denies it, Aaron reaches forward and hooks his own larger pinky to Akihito’s.

Akihito nods almost imperceptibly. 

“Asami. We’ll play with you later. For now, you’ve got a front-row seat to some entertainment. You should be grateful that you’re not the main show tonight.”

Akihito tilts his head to Asami’s corner. 

_It’s alright._ He mouths. _Close your eyes._

Asami opens his mouth to rebuke, golden eyes gleaming, but Akihito shakes his head. Puts his pointer finger up to his lips.

_Shh._

To Akihito, this is good. The later they can postpone the torturing and information gathering, the more time Suzuki and Misha have to track them down. He just didn’t expect it to be this easy. Well, relatively easy. He almost died again. 

“Isn’t this what you asked for, buddy? To do anything? Well, now you’re going to. And you can start by thanking us for sparing a life and saving yours.” The man leans down and slides the little clothes he has off. It’s cold, and he’s thankful that at least he’s on top a comforter. “Huh? What do you say?”

Akihito nods furiously. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He feels Asami’s aura darken in frustration and anger and sadness. The blond doesn’t check if Asami’s closed his eyes or not. The feeling emanating from the other corner is shadowed by disbelief and regret. The disbelief of what? That he got captured? 

A slap to the side of his hip. He grits his teeth as a little oomph is forced out. It hurts, just like Yuri’s spanks or Misha’s “love taps” or the few errant slaps from Suzuki when he’s pulling a tantrum. This is familiar. He can get through this. By this point, he’s been over countless knees. It hurts, but the pain is pain. Pain is nothing. Pain is nothing, he tells himself. “What do you say?”

“Thank you, sirs! Thank you very much for sparing a life and saving mine!” His voice hurts, sputtering out at the end. He tries to say something else, but all that comes out is a horse, a wordless exhale shaped like the vapors of a word. It’s no use. The swelling of his throat refuses to go down even after the medicine.

He stops trying to talk. 

“That’s better.” The man glances up, the hand still clamping possessively on his hip. “Who’s going first? Yuri?”

Yuri shakes his head. “You go first, Aaronchka.”

Go first? What is he, some kind of carnival game, and the prize is a goldfish?

“Thanks a lot, Yuri. You’re a part of us, now, you know that?”

“For Chernobyl.”

“For Chernobyl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are what most of the dead dove tags are about, so beware.


	10. The Children's Crusade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter covers a lot of the tags. Tread carefully if needed

The man sinks calloused fingers into his scalp. His braid is probably ruined and unraveling. 

It’s always hard to tie his flyaway hair, the strands simply too smooth to be bundled into an elastic, no matter how tight it’s tied. It’s an endless source of frustration for Suzuki who has to pin him down to redo his braids at least four times a day. 

The elastic slips off and his hair pools around his head, shimmering spun gold in the setting sun. 

A man further down grunts. “Get on with it, already.”

The fingers twist and Akihito’s held by the cruel fist forcing him to tilt his chin up. He gasps. “We’re going to do something dangerous and we need all the buffs we can get, sweet cheeks. To heal us all and juice us up or whatever you do, capiche?”

Akihito nods. So that’s what they want for. It’ll be just like healing the sick from the war. “I need- I need energy for that.”

“What, you need some pelmeni? A pirozhki? A potty break while you’re at it?”

He stays silent, embarrassed. A hand hovers above his inner thighs, threatening another round of spanks. “Uncle Yura!”

“He gets energy from skin contact.” Thankfully, Yuri speaks for him.

Akihito peeks up. The men’s eyes gleam. “It’s true.” He holds his breath in his cheeks, turning his head, trying to postpone his admission. Unfortunately, unknown to him, he looks like a chipmunk. His unbound hair tickles his face and chin and chest. “I need cuddles.”

Nobody moves. 

Losing his patience, Uncle Yuri stalks forward and manhandles him so that he can’t jerk a centimeter in any direction. “Uncle-!”

“Shut your trap, Aki-boy.” And proceeds to press them tightly together. Akihito sighs into the embrace, muscles relaxing like a marionette dropping it’s strings, his head loosely hanging at an angle, eyes drooping half-lidded. After so long, it’s an automatic response, especially as Yuri doesn’t hesitate to harshly scruff him and smack him more than a few if he struggles or tenses. 

He doesn’t have to reach forward before he’s taking in the ambrosia, gold wafting up around them. He drinks to his heart’s content, the normality of the feeding sending him into familiar grounds. By habit, he heals his own injuries and stores the precious energy when he’s suddenly thrown to the ground. 

His wrist jams as he catches himself and gold eagerly circles the injury a split second before everything’s all good again. He’s glad he can breathe deeply again. His airways are open as air sweetly passes in and out. 

Yuri stalks back to the wall without a second glance, muttering gruffly. “That’s how you do it.”

Akihito carefully doesn’t look at Asami. The other men circle closer, eager for a feel. It makes him think of a pack of wolves with a fawn. 

“Please.” He barely manages the word before someone grabs his arm and pulls him sprawling into a lap. 

No! No, no, no, he was good, wasn’t he? He was a good boy, he can’t think of anything that would make them-

“I’m a good boy, I’m good, I’m good, I’m good-”

“Yes, you’re a good boy. You’re going to be a better boy once you do what you’re told.”

What did they want? Oh. Yeah. Heal them.

Akihito breathes out a tiny sigh of relief. The man simply throws off his top layers while the boy sits up in the lap. He reaches with both arms extended, expectant of a hug, and is rewarded with a violent kiss, pushing him into the comforter with an oomph. His head smacks the floor on the way down.

Twisting away from the kiss, he breathes in sweet air as he tries to gag out the putrid taste of burnt rubber, sharpened hedgehog spikes, tomatoes being crushed underfoot. 

What are they doing? Yuri never kissed him, and neither did Misha. He doesn’t like it: it’s nasty. 

Grabby hands grope up and down his skin as the man goes in for another kiss. Akihito blocks it with a palm. “I don’t like it! Stop it!”

“Stop squirming, you brat!”

Akihito wrestles more in that grip, breaking free. Another man strikes out a knee and he’s on all fours choking on his spit. Someone clamps a sure hand on the nape of his neck, above his shock collar, and the fight bleeds out of him. 

“Aaronka, I don’t think I want to be part of this. This - isn’t what I signed up for.”

His chest flutters, hummingbird fast. He wants to get up. He needs to move. But his body isn’t listening to him. 

“Suit yourself. Believe me, I don’t want to do this too, but would you trade your life in exchange for not having a little adventure? It’s going to be big tomorrow and you know it.”

Afraid and trembling with adrenaline, he’s picked up by the hold on his neck and thrown onto the same lap he’s escaped. It was Uncle Yuri who threw him again. 

“Besides, we’re not going to hurt the boy.” Yuri hands Aaronka something small and metal, matching his collar. Is it the distance tether thing? Aaron nods in thanks.

It only takes a second or two to fight against the lingering laxness before he’s trying to twist out. He doesn’t want to get kissed again. It was so bad, he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want it-

A different hand grips his nape, but he fights it off. 

“No Alexi, you’ve got to scruff him like a kitten. Like this.” The man demonstrates by squeezing hard fingers into the back of his neck. Akihito’s limbs twitch and stop writhing.

He wills his limbs to move, to do something, but they only jerk a bit before returning to looseness. He’s not a damn cat, no matter what FeiLong or Misha or these men say. It hurts to be lifted by the neck, but he literally can’t do anything about it.

“Sthap.” The sound comes out slow and slurring like he’s under an ocean. He’s scared, but his emotions get more and more distant. “I gooh. Aki gooh.”

The hand shakes him, and his head lolls, baring his throat. 

“Aw, look at him. What a cute little kitty cat.”

Akihito thanks the gods that Asami is staying silent.

“Hurry the fuck up. Some of us have places to be.”

The grip on his neck is lifted for a second before another hand comes down in replacement, two fingers sliding under the collar to grip the entirety of his nape. Akihito stays relaxed, letting the waves swell above him. 

A finger probes his hole, and a second later it’s thrusting in him, to the knuckle. He warbles.

It’s a weird thing again. He doesn’t like it. He wants it to stop, but he can’t move. His lax muscles offer no resistance.

“Shhh. You’ll like it, you little slut.”

His unseeing eyes well with tears. He closes them. It won’t make a difference if he can see or not. 

Yuri’s presence walks out of the room and the door closes. The presence stands sentinel outside.

No. “Yoooooohhhhhh, heellllp, heeellllpppp!” He forces out in between his hiccuping sobs.

A chortle. “Your Uncle Yura’s not going to help you, little guy. Now fix us up.”

Three fingers jam into his hole. It burns. He wants it to stop. But nobody is listening to him.

Yuri was his only anchor to familiarity, and now that he’s further away and out of earshot, what little security he’s taken comfort in is snatched from under his feet. 

But the men promised that they won’t kill, they won’t be evil, so Akihito has to abide by his side of the promise too. Remember, Akihito? They asked him to heal. 

So Akihito focuses on the sparks all around him, drinking and suckling from whatever skin contact he has. The fingers don’t feel so much as intrusive but yet another way to eat. 

It’s only a moment when the fingers he’s eating from are replaced by a cock. The grip on his neck tightens, and with every plunge of the rod forward he’s sliding across the floor. He pulls as much energy as he can, and somehow the cock gets bigger and harder. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. It just means there’s more to eat from. 

A few seconds later, the intrusion inside him hits some spot that’s itchy. His body shudders, and the men jeer. The man aims for that spot now, and every time it’s brushed it spreads itchiness and heat through his hips. 

His shoulder is rubbing against the metal wall, as he’s pushed all the way to the corner by the rhythmic thrusting. Every time the cock rams in and out he hears squelching and feels frothing liquid leak bubbles along his nethers, up the rod, and down to the comforter below. 

They wanted him to heal. They’ll leave him alone once he finishes, once he’s fulfilled his promise. 

He waits for the pull of the energy and then  _ pushes _ . Wait, push. Wait, push. Little by little, he injects liquid life back into the body above him, seemingly reversing injuries like it’s never happened. The thrumming sexual and physical life energy he’s taken is now fed back as vitality and life energy, glowing iridescent on the two connecting bodies. 

Akihito feels the man above him thrust harder, faster, and slamming hips against his bottom cheeks. He tries to jerk his hips to get away from it, but he can’t do much else. The hand on the back of his neck is so strong the blond’s bones creak. Still, he waits and pushes, waits and pushes, waits and pushes. 

The man’s thrusts grow erratic, jerking and stilling and then spurting some kind of water inside him. It’s hot and it batters against the incubus’ oversensitive walls, but it’s full of sexual and pre-life energy so he drinks it down too. The fabric below his face is wet with tears.

Some movement. People talk in the background. The man above him unclenches the grip on his nape and retreats, brutally dragging the collar back and his upper body with it for a long second against his windpipe before the collar. Simply. Snaps.

Akihito’s torso drops to the floor, his chin hitting the ground and knocking his teeth together right next to where the collar has fallen. 

He concentrates through the pain to heal himself, sighing when he’s alright again. He’s good, he’s good, he’s done what they want, they’ll stop. 

He doesn’t even catch his breath before another rod forces itself into him. He screams. It’s wider and longer than the last, burning and burning and burning through his hole. “Hurts! Stop, it hurts!”

“Such a lovely screamer. Scream more, pet.”

“Stop! Take it out! You’re going to kill me! You’re killing me!”

The previous man’s liquids froth in and out of his hole in as the cock saws back and forth, helping lubricate his walls. What did he do last time to make the pain go away? It hurts so much he can’t think.

His own screaming is so loud his ears throb. Nobody listens to him. Nobody cares.

He shoves as hard as he can at the sweating shoulders, at the iron-grip hands, but nothing happens. He can’t feel his legs. He hits, open-palm, and swings at the body above him. The man just chuckles. 

Grasping at anything next to him, his fingers find the collar and he smacks it into the body above him. The man guffaws, snatching the metal away and tossing it across the room. 

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

The man shoves inside harder, skin slapping on skin, and somewhere in the chaos and agony, Akihito remembers. He nurses from the freely flowing gold all throughout the room, almost overflowing from the men’s bodies. This time, he eats and gives back in turn, pulling and pushing, hoping the torment will stop sooner.

“Please. It hurts. Oh god, oh god, oh god…” His sobs devolve into choking whispers.

How many of the men must he heal before it’s over?

“Your God is certainly not here, little guy.” The voice mocks. “Where is your God now?’

His entire body smarts and bruises; burst capillaries dotting his skin red in the shape of fingers and hands, red where his hole is mercilessly battered, red where he’s scraped on the metal ground, red where the man spanks him with his hips or hands for every thrust. 

The man mercilessly slaps him when he feels like his hole is not tight enough, and Akihito arches and tenses and involuntarily constricts against the rod inside him. 

God, it hurts. 

The man finishes and spurts the same liquid as before. Akihito just eats, pulling and pushing as the next man slots his way inside his aching, numbing hole. 

And it starts. Again. 

He doesn’t know how many take their turns at him, but he gives and gives until he’s empty. He’s nauseous with dizziness and hasn’t been able to hear past the high pitched ringing for a while now. He has to replenish energy.

No matter how it is, one human does not have enough energy to fully heal another body. The conversion of physical and sexual energy to vitality is expensive. So is transferring the converted energy to heal into someone else. To counteract the drain, he’s been supplementing his own life energy to make up for the energy deficits, and now he simply can’t give anymore. So he eats instead of heals this time.

As he eats, he loses himself in the haze of  _ finally feeling good _ . His hurts are healing, his overtired muscles repairing, and he’s actually getting to eat for himself. 

He doesn’t feel nearly as faint anymore. He opens his eyes in time to catch the body he was feeding on collapse. 

Snaking out a shaky hand, he hovers it above the mouth, heart in his throat. A faint breath tickles his palm. Oh, thank goodness. He didn’t kill. The man is simply unconscious. 

A man unclips a Smith and Wesson Shield and aims it at Akihito. It takes a few seconds to place him as Aaron as the scar over his eye has healed and his wrinkles have smoothed out. “What did you do, you whore?!”

Akihito tries to move his lips, but all that comes out is stammering. He hears a protest come from the corner, but he doesn’t compute it. 

The pistol coming closer, he unfurls his plumage to protect himself. The exertion leaves him panting. The wings tremble and hold up for a few breaths before they’re dropping as dead weights on him. It’s good, though. The weight comforts him. 

Aaron stalks forward and slams the pistol into his hole. It’s cold and unforgiving, tearing something inside. “A life for a life. You just signed your death certificate.”

The boy opens his mouth to say no, to say that the man is still alive, that he didn't kill, but Aaron pulls the trigger.

The force of the shot slams him into the wall. For long moments, all is silent. There’s only shock and pressure, heat and cold, needles, and firecrackers buzzing in and out. Then the pain hits. 

Akihito screams for seemingly forever. He can’t stop it. Pain like nothing before burns through his abdomen, up to his spine, seeping into every cell. 

He’s really dying this time, naked and fucked with a pistol up his hole, in an unknown cell on an unknown boat with unknown people and nobody who will remember him. Three lives will die, nameless, and his body and the twins inside him will be tossed over the ship to be one with the water. 

He tries to heal, but the gold around him falters and sputters, a fire dying out. 

A blue-eyed man announces that the unconscious man is not dead, the noise muffled and like a staticy TV, like he’s sinking under and under and going somewhere far away. 

He stopped screaming a while ago. It’s deadly quiet. The only noises are the waves lapping the sides of the ship. 

Aaron removes the gun, the white liquid, and blood mixed in water gushing out along with it. Drops of liquid splatter on the floor from the muzzle, a macabre trail. The spines on the red droplets make the floor look like a field with a row of blooming spider lilies. The man takes a towel from the tray on the other side of the room and cleans the gun. 

Akihito can’t move from the pain, his legs still splayed open to display his hole, his downy feathers the only thing protecting his nudity. It won’t matter, anyway. He’s a dead man walking.

“Hurts. Hurts. Hurts.” He whimpers out the word on every exhale. It hurts so much. The hurt tears at him, eating him alive.

He lets the torrent of tears drip down his face. No need to pretend to be strong now. He realizes that the men left and locked the door to the cell, turning off the light. There’s nobody here but him, marinating in his own blood, waiting to die. 

What a joke. He can’t believe he had hopes of going home just a few hours ago.

Hot and wet drips from his hole. Clots the size of lemons pass plop out. As minute by minute tick by, and Akihito realizes that the wait is the hardest part of dying. 

Moonlight just barely shines on his figure, contrasting with the rest of the room thrown in black. It’s nostalgic how Akihito used to be afraid of the dark, imagining all kinds of animals and monsters popping out from the chiaroscuro. 

He’s the monster now, dying in the darkness.

He has no final tricks. No last deux ex machina. He knew for a long time, deep down, that it will come to this.

_ All of them will face a certain death. Especially you.  _

His body pushes out clot after clot as Akihito just lies there, shivering so hard he’s convulsing, delirious with pain. Something bigger is squeezing out. He pushes with all his might so that the suffering might end sooner. 

“Please, please, please, I’m a good boy, I’m good, I’m good, I’m a good boy…”

He’s learned that nobody was ever going to save him. He always has to save himself, but look at where that got him, huh?

He just wants it to end. At the end of a contraction, the bigger thing slides out along with more liquid that bursts out. By now, the entirety of the comforter is soaked red. 

It hurts. Blood still flows out his hole, spurting out clots and bigger clots and more things that ache. He manages to push himself sideways as he’s convulsing, throwing up into the corner. 

Vomiting, like always, lasts forever. When he only dry heaves here and there, he’s done enough that Akihito flops to face the ceiling. The wet fabric sloshes at his movement, fluid enveloping him again.

He doesn’t see the ceiling. He doesn’t see or hear anything. The waves have finally pulled him away, pulled him under, and he knows he’s deep enough he won’t be able to come back up himself. He doesn’t care.

The energy inside him tries to spark once more. It croons, sad and low, a bare melody*. He hears it, seeping into his heart, trying to keep the muscle beating. 

_ Oh, field flower that has bloomed, _

_ Ah, somehow, please tell me: _

_ Why is it that people hurt each other _

_ And fight? _

He feels better, now. It must be the blood loss. His heartbeat roars slowly in his head, in time with the voice. 

_ Oh, flower that blooms with the asphalt, _

_ What can you see from there? _

_ Why is it that people _

_ Cannot forgive each other? _

The boy smiles. It’s a radiant thing, angelic if not for the rest of the picture. It’s long after the sunset, and even now, his matted hair glows in the moonlight. 

_ In the summer, the rain passed _

_ And the blue reflected, _

_ Small, it rippled _

_ In front of me, _

_ Without saying a thing. _

He’s finally getting closer to death. It won’t be long now. 

_ What do you think _

_ When your friends wilt? _

_ With those leaves that do not carry words, _

_ How do you convey your love? _

A breeze gently ruffles through the few feathers unclotted by crimson.

_ The summer sun is clouded _

_ And the wind fluttered. _

_ I shall sing _

_ The proof that life once existed _

_ For those who do not have a name. _

Akihito doesn’t worry. 

  
  


Everything was beautiful

and nothing hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone hasn’t read Slaughterhouse-Five, I highly recommend it. That last moment was one of the most profound moments I’ve ever experienced reading a book.
> 
> BTW, I found it interesting how some gun manufacturers do not put (manual) safeties. The Smith and Wesson Shield indeed doesn’t have a thumb safety… which… scary. 
> 
> *The melody is Euterpe by EGOIST and vocalized by Chelly. You can hear American reports on the WWII atomic bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the bridge (a connection section between two other sections in a musical piece), which is ingenious.
> 
> You might find the song familiar as it was in Guilty Crown. The lyrics I incorporated are the English translation. The original song is in Japanese. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvXRX5RJiIo
> 
> >I originally wrote this chapter without music and made silence (the pinky promise, the silence directly after the gunshot, how Akihito literally cannot discern words after he realizes he’s shot and when he’s bleeding out he loses the ability to hear his surroundings, then his own body, then everything.) the centerpiece of this chapter to highlight how different this trauma is compared to all the traumas before. 
> 
> It’s still and soundless. Only the dead are (relatively) silent, and major parts of Akihito dies here. It’s not something he can recover from by himself. 
> 
> The question is, has he died in a way that matters?
> 
> But alas, I was tempted and gave into impulse. If you want to pretend the music is not there, just skip the italicized centered parts and the astrix.


	11. Falling Action. Or is it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t run. Please believe me, I didn’t run away. I was good. I’m a good boy.”
> 
> A hand strokes over his ouroboros tattoo. “You’re a good boy, Akihito. Yes, such a good boy.”

There’s slow, even hum of a familiar tune, looping and looping so the music seems never ending. 

Gunshots echo in the distance. Bodies hit the floor. Voices meld. It’s all noise. 

His eyes are unfocused, gazed into the distance. Nothing feels real. Everything is distant. He’s still under that wave, floating _ down down down _ . 

It’s comfortable. There’s no pain. No sensation. He just  _ is _ , and that’s perfect and enough. 

Another presence. It’s a steady heartbeat, rain on a windowpane and old books and  _ Yoh _ . 

Yoh comes closer. Akihito can hear the heartbeat loud and strong. It must be pressed to his ears. 

What must be a bucketful of cold water splashes on his face. He gasps. A second later, more water rains down his hands and down his legs. Hands pat his wings and chest down. 

Alcohol is placed right under his nose. The smell washes all other odors, overpowering and so strong he can’t smell anything at all after a few breaths. It makes him cough and his eyes water. 

A hand brushes away strands of sticky hair from his sweating forehead. Someone is firmly scratching the dull end of a knife down his shins. 

“Tell me five things you hear.”

“Yoh.” A breathless huff above him. Akihito’s tongue is big and sticky inside his mouth. His voice cracks. “Water. Wind. Seagulls.” His feet twitch. “Song.”

“Good job, Akihito. Tell me four things you can feel?”

This one is easier. “Water. Hands.” He blinks, his eyes trying to focus. “Sharp. Cold.”

“You’re doing so well. Three things you can see?”

“You. Metal. Blood.” So much blood. Akihito is covered in it. So is Yoh.

“Almost done. Two things you can smell?”

“Alcohol. Iron.” Little by little, Akihito wakes up.

“Thank you. You really helped me out. One thing you can taste?”

“Blood.”

Akihito blinks and turns his head. Yoh’s here, and so is Asami and FeiLong. His legs are elevated, and his left ear is pressing firmly on Yoh’s chest. Water continues to drip down his back, his arms, his hair. 

A whine escapes his throat. He’s nauseous and clammy, breathing rapidly and dizzy. 

The humming stops. “Do you feel me, Akihito?” 

The blond’s ear never leaves Yoh’s chest as the bodyguard positions himself below Akihito, below the hanging wings. “You’re in shock. Take from me, Akihito.”

What?

“C’mon. Be a good boy. Take from me.”

Fumbling, Akihito reaches for the energy and finds it ready for the picking, vibrating so eagerly on his skin. He drinks, instinctively nuzzling deeper into the chest, seeking the steady heartbeat. 

Gold corsucates to life all around him. It was sunset when they started. Golden hour. Everything looked like gold in that cell. 

His energy sputters and stops. A choking hiccup works its way up this throat. 

He shuts his eyelids closed. A hand pats his head, sliding fingers into his matted hair. FeiLong tries to untangle the strands from the mess of drying blood and tangles. 

_ It’s over _ , he tells himself.  _ The worst is over _ . 

He tries again, mustering the will to connect to another person. He tentatively probes out a single tendril. It connects, and a shockwave of energy pours into him. It’s bright and clear and calling. 

He opens his eyes. 

His ribs cease to hurt, and his back only twinges. The worst, his pelvic area, hurts but even that hurt is gently fading. 

Another torso rests atop Akihito. He automatically starts eating from the other body as well, the room aglow with glitter. 

No nausea, or dizziness, or clammy skin. He’s good now, riding the high of no pain, eating voraciously to fill his own reserves. 

A third body joins in, warm and unsure but earnest. Dutiful. The body all but thrusts the offered energy to him, and what can Akihito do but take it?

What is willingly offered is hundreds of times easier to extract than what is reluctantly given. There is almost no waste as the energy transfers to Akihito’s skin. 

Minutes or hours pass. Gunshots that rung frequently beyond the door now only sound occasionally, and then not at all. He finches at every loud noise.

“You back with us, Akihito?” A familiar, almost forgotten voice. FeiLong. He’s forgotten the smell of plastic smoke, so sweet and sharp. Now, when he inhales, he doesn’t choke anymore. He’s growing used to the smell by the minute, and it tastes more sweet and safe, almost making him forget it’s poison.

He knows, eventually, he will forget.

“I didn’t run. I promise, I didn’t run.” The body above him wraps arms around him, firm and tight. 

“Shh. You didn’t run, I know.”

“I didn’t run. Please believe me, I didn’t run away. I was good. I’m a good boy.”

A hand strokes over his ouroboros tattoo. “You’re a good boy, Akihito. Yes, such a good boy.”

A sob catches in his throat. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! Was bad, I’m bad, I’m bad-”

“You’re a good boy, Akihito. You tried your best. You’re the best boy anyone can hope for. You’re a good boy, a really good boy.”

The praises come endlessly, from below and above and besides him. They all say he was good, that he’s a good boy, but they don’t know the truth. He’s almost killed someone again. He knew of danger and let it play out, let the danger hurt the Angel and other people better than him. He let himself be carted away and sat like a well-trained dog on Mikhail’s lap for months on end. 

He’s the one that can’t do anything right, that messes everything up. He can’t stomach the lies. 

Hands rub on his sides, on his shoulders, his legs. 

“You’re a good boy, a good boy, a good boy…”

The rhythm rocks Akihito to a half-sleep. Frustration lines his muscles. He’s overtired, too strung out to open his eyes and move but too high on his second wind to slumber. It’s the worst kind of restless rest. 

The bodies quietly detach. Yoh carries him like he did, so many times before. He rests his face into the warm neck, his wings trailing on the ground on both sides of him. 

He’s carried, out of the ship, into the humid, salty night air, and cradled in a car. Hands stroke him down whenever he whines, whispering sweet assurances. They ride up to a casino. 

Yoh lies him down in warm water, getting in with him. The bodyguard baths the grime out of each individual feather, each strand of hair, softly scrubbing the red from his arms, between each crevice, under each fingernail, draining the tub and filling with more water and repeating until Akihito can only smell a hint of blood on them both. 

Akihito’s eyes still shut, Yoh carries him out, carefully but insistently massaging the base of his shoulders until his wings fully retract and then some. 

Yoh softly clothes them both and rubs his back, carrying him to the meeting room where FeiLong and Asami and other men debate about something heatedly. 

They stop when they see him. 

Yoh seats him on the couch, kindly moving each limb until Akihito is using Yoh’s lap as a pillow. 

Conversation continues, stilting and awkward. 

The blond only catches bits of “shipment” or “Cherenboyl” or “trap” before he’s finally lulling to sleep to the gentleness of Yoh’s callused hands rubbing slow circles on his back, whispering that he’s a good boy into the liminal space between them.

Yoh came for him, after all.

**

Akihito wakes to the feeling of FeiLong and Asami and many other men leaving. 

“Nnngh?”

Yoh smooths a hand over Akihito’s hair. “Shh, Akihito. Go back to sleep.”

But FeiLong and Asami are leaving. Where are they going? Is it to face the “big day” Cherenboyl mentioned?

Akihito can’t bear the thought of them leaving, so soon after he’s finally back with them. If they leave, he’ll be kidnapped again. 

They can’t leave. If they go somewhere, Akihito has to go with them. Plus, he has to protect Angel from Chernobyl.

That thought spurs anxiety in his gut. 

Akihito swings his legs over to stand, only to fall straight to his face. Yoh catches him and perches Akihito on a hip. 

“Akihito, it’s okay.”

“FeiLong? Asami?”

“They’re coming back soon.”

Akihito doesn’t take those words at face value. 

“FeiLong! Asami!”

The shout surprises some men suiting up tactical gear. What could they be possibly doing with all these men assembling guns and packing ammo for? Akihito isn’t stupid. 

Yoh bounces Akihito, shushing him. “Don’t worry, they’re coming back soon.” Akihito’s hips hurt.

“FEILONG! ASAMI!”

His voice falters and fails, sputtering into coughs. Yoh bounces him and pats his back. 

He clenches his eyes shut. 

“Akihito? You’re not supposed to be awake.”

The blond unwinds his arms enough from Yoh to twist back. 

“FeiLong. Asami-sama.” Yoh nods. 

FeiLong and Asami stand stock still in bulletproof armour and weapons stashed away at every crevice. 

“Are you two going to go away? To where Cherenboyl is?”

Asami doesn’t bother to sugarcoat. “Yes.”

Akihito can’t feel past his throat. “Why?”

FeiLong ruffles his hair. “Chernobyl is a threat. To keep everyone safe, we have to eliminate the threat.”

Like it’s so easy. Like eliminating is just hushing them to sleep instead of killing them. 

“Don’t-don’t go away. Don’t leave me here-”

“Shhh shhhh. It’ll be okay. We’ll come back. I promise, okay?” FeiLong whispers it into his hair.

“I promise to come back, Akihito.” Asami states, like it’s simple. Like once he says it, that is the way it will be.

“Take me with you. Please.”

FeiLong sighs. “Your hair is so beautiful, Akihito. I’m glad you grew it out. It would be a pity for it to be cut short.”

They’re going to leave. Gods, they’re going to leave him. 

“Please, take me with you. I’ll rather be where you are than to be-be-be st-st-stolen away again. Please! Take me with you!”

“Silly Akihito. You won’t be stolen away again. Yoh will be here, right with you. And then once we come back, Asami will take you home.”

No. How can he tell them that that’s not the way it will be? That if FeiLong and Asami leave and he’s all alone with Yoh, he’ll suffocate under the weight of his own breaths? Yoh might be able to hold him afloat for a while, but Yoh has to breathe too. 

“Please. Bring me with you. I promise I won’t be a bother, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good-”

“Akihito. You’re already good. You’re so good. It’s dangerous there.”

“Let him come.”

“Asami, we can’t keep an eye on him there.”

“We can’t. Yoh can.” The two men exchange a heated conversation between each other, eyes locked. Akihito holds his breath.

“Fine. Yoh, suit him up.” He’s coming. He’s coming. Akihito can’t quite believe it. He’ll be the best boy, he’ll stay out of the way, he’ll be so quiet nobody will remember he’s there. 

Akihito leans over closer and closer until his lips touch FeiLong’s forehead. He’ll be good. He can’t fight, but wants to protect them nonetheless. 

He taps into FeiLong’s energy, linking it with his will to protect. To let FeiLong stay safe. 

Stygian blue flames burst forth in a circle around FeiLong. The man jolts, half-gasping, and bumps Akihito’s lips away. Akihito catches sight of the flames and a lapis lazuli-hot algiz branding onto the kissed brow and fading like it was never there. 

Oh. Something happened. He can protect people?

“Stay safe.”

The men don’t say anything. Akihito motions for Asami to come closer. The taller man obediently steps forward, closer and closer until their noses touch. With his right hand, Akihito bends Asami’s head so he can press his lips onto the frons and reaches the feeling of wanting to protect into the body below him. 

Protect. Protect. Keep safe. Please.

Blue flames lick into a circle, encompassing Akihito and Asami and Yoh, matching in color with the algiz vanishing into perfect skin. 

“Stay safe.”

“I promise, Akihito. Thank you.”

Akihito nods at Asami. He twists backwards to face Yoh, and does the same. Yoh blinks. Holds Akihito tighter. 

FeiLong regains his ability to speak. “Thank you, Akihito. That was generous of you. You’re such a good boy.” The long-haired man feels immeasurably sad. 

Akihito nods and buries his face back into the crook of Yoh’s neck. He’s trying to be good. He’s not a good boy, but he’s being good. If he tries hard enough, he will be good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring three mafia men puppy piling
> 
> I posted early as a celebration of finishing an exam


	12. Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream, And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?

Asami stares at Akihito long and hard. “Thank you, little one.”

Akihito dips his head further and reaches out a hand. Confused, Asami stays still. Akihito carefully wraps his fist around Asami’s pinky finger. 

Akihito squeezes the digit in his clenched hand and burrows back into Yoh, snuffing sleepily. He’s almost fully drained his energy in one go. He wants to rest forever. He reaches down to his centre, expecting heartbeats and little cores of life energy playfully poking back, but it’s empty. Oh. 

“Akihito-chan, you have to let go.” 

“Mmmmmmm.”

“Akihito.”

The boy whines. Mumbles into Yoh’s steady heartbeat. “Beware of cuckoo man and of everyone around him.” 

“Don’t worry, I will, Aki-chan.” The blond feels the vibrations from the words rumble in Yoh’s chest. 

The bodyguard nods to Asami. FeiLong ruffles his hair one last time. Asami curls his finger back and Akihito relaxes his grip enough for the man to slip his finger out. 

“Bye-bye.” The blond wraps his monkey-arms onto Yoh. “Don’t leave me, Yoh.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

Yoh quickly suits him up in a bulletproof vest four sizes too large and demonstrates how to pull a trigger. When Yoh pushes the gun into Akihito’s hands, he doesn’t take it. The bodyguard stuffs it into the boy’s tactical gear and the weight lays heavy on his body, right next to his mini radio.

The car ride to the warehouse is a blur. What seems like hundreds of men ride along in discrete unplated black vans. Yoh holds his hand all the while. 

A few meters from the dock, there are familiar presences above. It’s the people he “juiced up”. “Yoh, why are there lots of people high up?”

Yoh pushes a button on his radio. “Asami-sama, Fei. There are presences detected above the warehouse. Possible snipers. Over.”

Another voice comes in. “At least 50 presences confirmed. Most likely more. Possibly Chernobyl. Over.”

The hearts in the cars beat faster as the cars park and the doors open. Men spill out, from the cars and above and all over. Suddenly the quiet, tense world becomes bright and loud, gunshots blazing in all directions. 

Akihito doesn’t like it. He climbs into Yoh’s lap and curls up, palms pressing so hard into his ears they create a suction, rocking into the familiar chest. Their car is the last one, the farthest from the warehouse. There’s nobody else here but Akihito and Yoh. 

“It’s okay, Akihito-chan.”

Yoh slowly smooths warm hands down the blond’s shoulders and flank and thighs. Outside, the night flashes white and the rat-a-tat or automatic weapons beat a grisly rhythm, like a fireworks show going on and on and on. 

Akihito looks up. Yoh’s face is illuminated periodically by bursts of bullet rain. He’s as steady as ever.

The blond removes a hand from his ear. The banging is so deafening he flinches. He snaps the hand back.

Yoh shushes, rubbing pressure into Akihito’s skin. “Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. You’ll be alright.”

After long minutes, the man gently removes Akihito’s hands. “It’s alright, Aki-chan.”

The blond tentatively pokes out his senses. Searching through the muddle of hundreds of people, he pinpoints FeiLong. Oh, and on the upper floor is Asami. With Aaron? And-

Akihito measures his inhale.

There’s Mikhail and Yuri, on the roof. And Suzuki’s here too. He’s injured.

A flare. Akihito feels his own life energy burst around FeiLong. A second later, the car shakes from the boom of blue flames roaring to life high and hot from the warehouse. 

The flames eat the air and bullets and lives alike, thundering beyond the warehouse to the cars and the pier and nearby buildings. 

Screams puncture the night air. People on fire try to drop and roll, but it doesn’t work. The flames just eat and eat, voracious and unquenching on flesh and even water. Akihito feels stronger by every breath, life force from dozens fed back into him by the fire. 

Akihito feels disgusting. He chokes. Gasps.

The flames don’t feel hot for him. They feel cold. 

“It’s okay, Aki-chan. It’s okay. Shhhhh.” Yoh squeezes him tight. “You’re a good boy, Aki-chan. A good boy. You’re such a good boy.”

No. He’s a monster.

Everything the fire touches dies. Beyond the roar, he hears heartbeats quicken then stop, quicken then stop. The flames grow higher and higher, a sapphire horror twisting into a fire tornado. 

He wants it to stop. He tries to retreat his energy back, but all it does is stop the fire for a breath before it explodes outwards, fiercer than before. 

“Akihito! Concentrate on me. Breathe.” The fire reaches the car, snaking inside. It doesn’t do more than cradle him before moving on. 

Yoh. Akihito feels Yoh. 

Little by little, the flames grow smaller. Akihito unconsciously mimics Yoh’s exaggerated, unhurried breaths. Yoh’s heart beats ever steady. 

The gun weighs heavy in his bulletproof vest.

“You’re alright, Akihito. It’s alright.” Yoh gently rocks him, crooning a familiar tune, whispering assurances under his breath. 

It’s not alright. He’s a killer again. Once a murderer, always a murderer. He can’t bite back the nausea anymore, and tilts sideways to puke. 

Yoh just holds him through the heaving. 

**

“Wake up, Akihito-chan.” A gentle hand cards through his hair. 

The blond beadily opens his eyes. It’s Yoh. Yoh and FeiLong and Asami and Suzuki and Mikhail and Glasses crowd him. He’s on a bed.

Is this a dream?

He’s a murderer, a killer. All those lives, lost because he couldn’t control a single fire. He’s useless. More than useless. Akihito’s arrogant and his arrogance slaughtered so many. 

He can’t believe-

“Akihito! Breathe!”

What does it matter if he breathes or not? He should die. It’s the least he can do. A death like this is too kind for a butcher like him.

Mikhail kneels on the bed and rubs his back. Akihito shrinks away. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Just let me die.” He croaks out, a whisper beneath the wheezing. Isn’t that what they’re here for? 

Someone shoves an inhaler into his mouth. He automatically inhales the sweet medicine and the rattling in his lungs dies down. 

He hates himself. He could have died so peacefully, floating higher and higher until there’s nothing left of him. But he didn’t. Ah, this kind of death is too nice for him anyway.

The men are in various positions around him, touching him. FeiLong strokes his hair. Asami rolls fingers on his thigh. Yoh presses circles into his shoulders. Misha smooths a hand down his calves. Suzuki traces _Hello_ s and _I’m sorry_ s and _forgive me_ s on his knee. 

Akihito’s glad Glasses isn’t touching him. 

“You back with us, little guy?” Suzuki quips, like nothing bad ever happened. 

Akihito hangs his head. 

“Why don’t you just kill me already?”

Silence.

FeiLong pulls the words out slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. “What do you mean, Aki-chan?” The long-haired man is wearing white from head to toe.

“You all know what I mean. I. I- I killed people. So stop pretending and just get on with it!”

A discontented noise. Akihito doesn’t care.

“I’m useless to you now. A defective product. A life for a life. So kill me. I’m ready.”

Akihito’s been ready. He can hold his head up high and face his death like he should. 

Misha laughs. “Hey buddy, don’t get so melodramatic. Yeah, you did burn up old Uncle Yura. But he was a crotchety old guy anyway-”

“Mikhail!” Multiple voices cut the Russian off. 

Suzuki grasps his hand on the blond’s knee. “Aki-chan. What Mikhail means is that you saved our lives last night. All of our lives. You helped us win against Chernobyl. Did you know that there’s not one death or injury on our side? You protected us. Protected me. Healed me up all good.”

“Nobody’s going to kill you, Akihito. You’re a good boy.” FeiLong lies. But FeiLong’s heart doesn’t stutter. FeiLong believes his own lie. 

Yoh clears his throat. “Aki-chan, we’re not going to hurt you. We came to thank you for your protection. You did good, kid.”

Akihito whips his head around. All of the men nod in agreement.

“Haha, walking through freezing cold fire without getting flamed up was an experience! If you ever want to do that again-”

“MIKHAIL!”

“-little firebird, feel free to hit me up.”

FeiLong glares at Misha. Misha grins back.

Five mafia men on a bed. With him. And they’re not killing him or planning to kill him?

“Akihito, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest.” Yoh states.

The boy nods. Oh, his pelvis hurts. Why is it hurting again?

“Where do you want to go from here?”

“Home.” What kind of question was that? Of course he wants to go home. 

“Alright. Thank you Akihito-chan.”

Misha groans. “Aw! I hoped that you would choose to go back with me, Aki-chan. We had such fun times!”

Something wet is in between his legs. 

Misha smooshes closer for a hug. “Come to Russia anytime, alright? You really helped me out back there.”

Akihito hugs back. The wetness is sliding down into the fabric of his pants. Akihito hopes it doesn’t drip into the bed, that nobody notices. It smells of blood.

The Russian slides off the bed and adjusts his shirt. There’s no more scar tissue peeking below the cloth. 

“Keep in contact, okay Aki-chan?” Akihito nods. Suzuki clenches his hand on the boy’s knee one more time, and then stands up as well to follow Mikhail out. 

“Wait-” Akihito catches Suzuki’s hand. “Please don’t go.”

“What, so your daddy is chopped liver? I’m so insulted.” Misha exaggerates a frown.

“There’s nothing to insult under that empty head of yours.” Quips back FeiLong.

“Ouch.” 

Akihito must have shown something on his face. Misha smiles softly. “It’s okay, Akihito. You can have Suzuki. Suzuki. You’re free of the Bratva. Thank you for your service.”

Mikhail nods to Suzuki. Suzuki nods back. “Yes sir.”

The Russian ruffles Akihito’s hair. “See you laters!” And strolls out.

What? Have Suzuki, like he’s something to lend out or trade? But then again, FeiLong traded him. People can be traded. 

FeiLong sighs. “Guess it’s my turn now.” Takes Akihito’s hands to his own. “Thank you, Akihito. You saved my life. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Sorry for what? “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago. Don’t worry about it.”

FeiLong just smiles sadly and shakes his head. Pats his hand. Slides off the bed. “I hope we can still keep in contact when you return home.”

The blond nods. 

“Suzuki. Thank you for your service.” And FeiLong walks out, long hair trailing in his exit. In the distance, Akihito hears Mikhail driving away.

Asami’s hand slides up his thigh. Akihito squirms. He doesn’t want-

The hand stops. Lifts up. The damning evidence glistens red on Asami’s fingertips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

The room turns cold. “It’s not your fault, Akihito.” Asami bites out. 

The boy recoils.

“Hey, hey little guy.” Suzuki returns to put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Asami-sama was just surprised. Are you hurt?”

He nods, just a little.

“Is it a lot? Do you know where?”

Akihito puts his hand on his pelvis. “It’s not that bad. Just aches.” Aches so bad he’s gritting his teeth.

“That’s good, buddy. Thanks for telling me.” An inhale. “Well, we can’t exactly take you to the doctor’s right now, so do you mind if you heal yourself? You have enough energy?”

The boy nods and concentrates on healing himself. But there’s nothing to heal. His body is perfect. 

He catches Suzuki’s gaze and shakes his head. 

“You-you can’t heal?” Akihito nods. Yes, he can’t heal.

It’s okay. It’s just a bit of blood.

Asami barks out a “Kirishima.” But Akihito shakes his head. “It’s not something healable. It’ll have to pass.”

“Is it - is it-” Suzuki can’t finish his sentence. But the blond knows what he means anyway. 

“Yes.” He whispers. 

“Shit!” Suzuki clenches a fist.

“It’s okay. I didn’t want them anyway.” It’s harsh, but true. He wasn’t ready. He won’t be ready in a long time. He’s still a child himself.

“Kirishima, take Suzuki and get the plane ready.” Asami intones.

Glasses, or Kirishima now, bows. Suzuki flips his head to face the Japanese man. “Asami-sama, with all due respect, I can’t just leave. I’m Akihito’s now. I won’t leave him.”

“You’re not calm. I’m not asking you to leave Akihito. I’m asking you to keep your grievances to yourself.”

Suzuki looks suitably chastised. “Akihito-chan, I’m sorry for making you sad. Do you want me to go? It’s your choice.”

Akihito doesn’t care either way, so he shrugs. “Yoh trusts Asami. Fei does too, even though he doesn’t want to. So I’ll trust him.” 

Apparently that was a rejection. Suzuki exhales. “Okay, I’ll be back in just a bit. Be good for me, Akihito-chan?”

The blond nods. Suzuki and Kirishima leave. It’s just Yoh and Asami with him now. Outside, FeiLong is shoveling at the dirt in the garden. Akihito watches The BaiShe leader through the window. 

“What did Suzuki-san mean, Akihito-chan? Are you okay?” Yoh tucks some flaxen hair behind his ear. 

Akihito leans into Yoh and hides. “I forgave Fei a long time ago.”

“Okay.”

“Are you coming back home with me?”

“Of course, Akihito. I won’t leave you.”

“No. Go home to FeiLong.” Of course Akihito wants Yoh to come home with him. But Yoh shouldn’t. Yoh belongs with FeiLong. Akihito needs to be the bigger person. He needs to grow up.

Yoh sighs. “Okay, Aki-chan.”

“Good boy, Yoh.”

Yoh’s heart stutters.

**

Asami thanks Akihito, then saunters out. Yoh lays a towel below his hips and kisses his forehead to sleep.

The blond lies on Yoh’s chest, overstrung and overtired. Every once in a while, he whimpers and shifts from the cresting dull aches radiating from his lower belly. The older just pats his head and shushes him and wipes away the wetness from his eyelashes. 

Yoh doesn’t mention the blood Akihito is slowly leaking onto him through the towel. 

Outside, he feels Asami stand a bit from FeiLong, the Japanese watching the Chinese mafia leader dig into the dirt for long minutes in the BaiShe garden while smoking a Dunhill. Akihito had spent long days staring into the gardens through the windows, wishing to touch the green and escape outside like the birds and cicadas. 

FeiLong breaks the silence. “Asami.”

“FeiLong.” Asami sighs. “You’re getting your clothes dirty.”

A harsh chuckle. “They’re white. They’re bound to get dirty. What are you here for?”

“To help you with Chernobyl. To take Akihito home. But I don’t suppose you mean those.”

“No, I don’t.”

For a long time, FeiLong continues to shovel. Then, the man throws down the spade. 

“You can look.”

Feet shuffling. A long, breathless pause. “They’re-”

“Yes. They’re mine.” Footsteps. The sound of dirt being thrown.

“Akihito forgave you. Why keep tormenting yourself?”

“I know. Why, indeed.” The long-haired man doesn’t say anything for a while. “Men like us, we don’t have the luxury of making mistakes. There are not many things I regret, but this is one of them. Tell Akihito I’m sorry.”

“You already did, FeiLong.”

“Take good care of him, Asami.”

Akihito falls asleep and wakes in Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emmy Noether is my hero. My favorite physicist. My utter science crush. Appreciate her more!

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, critiques? Please leave them down below!


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